


ashes to the ground

by Talraven



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Angst, Author has zero knowledge of hacking so lots of fake hacking bits, Drama, Fast Burning Plot, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, No-Capes AU, Non-Graphic Violence, Sexual Harassment, Sexual Tension, Slow Burning Smut, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Undercover, but it's for the plot, which may or may not be resolved idk yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-06-24 14:38:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19725673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talraven/pseuds/Talraven
Summary: Bruce Wayne dies a traitor to his country, accused of treason and conspiring against the very government he has dedicated his whole life to serving. He is succeeded by his two sons, Dick and Damian Wayne; both of whom have sworn to clear their father's name and prove his innocence.Neither Dick nor Damian believe their father capable of the crimes he had been accused of, nor do they believe that he is truly dead. But in order to unveil the truth and find their father, they must first traverse the world that Bruce had lived in, and determine for themselves who they can or cannot trust.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a line from [Believer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7wtfhZwyrcc) by Imagine Dragons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted Slade perving over Dick in an office setting but my brain of course ended up churning out an unnecessarily convoluted plot involving a bunch of unrelated crap intended to be crack but which also evolved into angst. Idk why I do this tbh.
> 
> Anyway, basic outline of this AU is that superheroes don't exist, at least not like in comics 'verse. Also, Dick and Damian are both Bruce's son by blood. Dick's mother died at childbirth and Bruce remarried Talia before getting divorced. His failed relationships aren't that important though, don't worry.

Dick’s sleeping soundly in his bed when they come.

A dozen men, dressed in all black, their faces hidden behind thick helmets with equally black visors.

Dick had woken up to the sound of his door slamming open, and he sits frozen in his bed as the men fan out to surround him, pointing guns at the terrified thirteen-year-old. One of them shouts something, talking to him, but Dick can’t hear anything but the sound of his own heart thudding loudly in his ears.

And then someone comes in between them, not wearing a helmet. Someone his father’s age, with a trimmed beard and an eyepatch over one eye.

He has a struggling Damian held in his arms, and Dick flies out of bed in blind panic, reaching for his little brother. Damian shouts angrily as Dick pulls him away from the stranger, fighting against Dick’s hold, but Dick drops them both to the ground and holds onto him tightly.

“Shh Dami, it’s me, it’s just me,” he says, bundling the smaller boy against his chest. “I’m here.”

Damian stops struggling once he registers the sound of Dick’s voice, throwing his arms around him instead. “Richard,” he whimpers softly.

Dick hugs him tighter, looks up at the man that had brought Damian in. He’s staring down at them silently with his one eye, cold and impassive.

“Who are you?” Dick asks.

The man breaks out in a smile, but it only serves to make Dick even more fearful.

“Call me Mr. Wilson,” the man says. “Your father’s been in an accident.”

\---

 _Treason_ , _conspiracy_ , _traitor_.

Dick hears those words a lot from the people that are ‘taking care of’ him and Damian. They say these things about their father, and Dick doesn’t understand what’s going on.

He knows what a traitor is, and he _knows_ their father isn’t one. Their father is a great man, a good man. Dick _knows_.

But Mr. Wilson tells him otherwise.

He’d taken Dick and Damian to a place neither of them recognize, and he’d locked them in separate rooms with nothing but white walls and steel furniture. They look like prison cells, and it’s always cold in there.

Mr. Wilson had told Dick that he could share the same room as Damian if Dick ‘cooperated’ with him. Dick had agreed out of desperation.

He hadn’t known what Mr. Wilson wanted his cooperation with, but it turns out that what he wants is just for Dick to say that their father is a criminal. That Bruce Wayne has been selling dangerous information to foreign military, that Bruce Wayne has been trading weapons schematics to the Chinese for money.

None of it is true, but Mr. Wilson takes Damian away everytime Dick tells him so. He doesn’t hurt Damian, but Dick hates being away from his little brother. Hates that he can’t see him all the time and make _sure_ that Damian really is okay, here in this unfamiliar place full of unfamiliar faces.

Still. Their father had taught them to be strong. Their father had taught them right from wrong, and Dick knows that what Mr. Wilson wants from him is _wrong_.

So he doesn’t cooperate. It hurts, being away from Damian, but Damian is stronger than him, and Damian _never_ cries whenever Mr. Wilson brings him to Dick just to take him away again.

“Father will come for us,” Damian had said once, calm and sure beyond his years.

Mr. Wilson had laughed at him for it, but Dick had known Damian was right.

Dick’s not sure how long they had been there when _someone_ does come for them. It isn’t their father.

It’s Uncle Clark, dad’s best friend, but he looks _different_. He’s not wearing his glasses, and Dick has never seen him look so _angry_ before when he bursts through the door that keeps Dick locked in his room. Uncle Clark looks dangerous, in a way that’s almost similar to Mr. Wilson, and Dick flinches away when he approaches him.

“I’m sorry Dick, but you have to trust me,” Uncle Clark says. “I need to get you two out of here.”

“Where’s dad?” Dick asks.

The anger turns into sadness instead, and Dick already _knows_.

 _Your father’s been in an accident_.

“I need to make sure you two are safe,” Uncle Clark says.

\---

There’s a funeral, but Dick barely remembers it.

He knows their father isn’t dead, and he doesn’t care what anyone else says. The body lying in the open casket in the den _isn’t_ him. And if Alfred weren’t missing, Dick would’ve asked him to tell everyone that, because no one listens to a kid, but everyone would listen to Alfred.

After the funeral, Uncle Clark pulls them aside and tells Dick that he and Damian would be staying with Damian’s mother, Talia. Since Bruce is dead and he’d named their legal guardian Alfred, who is missing; Talia is their closest next of kin.

Dick had met Talia only once, that night when she’d come to drop a five-year-old Damian off at the manor.

He remembers her being cold but not unkind. Just. Unfamiliar.

Damian tells him that she’s strict but fair. They would be fine with her. Dick had wanted to argue, wanted to tell them all that the two of them didn’t need to stay with Talia because _Bruce wasn’t dead_. But Damian had given him a _look_ , and Dick- Dick had known that Damian thought the same thing.

“She will help us find him,” Damian says later, when it’s just the two of them curled up together in Dick’s bed. “Mother loved father. She will want justice.”

“We’ll be fine,” Dick says. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

\---

Talia does not help them find Bruce.

Dick spends most of their first year with her attempting to run away. Talia stops him every single time, and although she doesn’t hit him, her idea of punishment consists of maintaining hours and hours of her chosen pose. Dick has had more muscle cramps in the eight months he’s had to live with her than he’s ever had his whole life.

He still doesn’t stop trying to escape.

Eventually, Talia strikes a deal with him.

“You are not my blood, but you share blood with my son,” she says as she pours tea into the cups on the short table between them. “You share blood with my Beloved.”

Dick takes the cup she hands him, but doesn’t drink. He doesn’t trust her, and Bruce had always told him not to drink water he hadn’t taken for himself.

Talia eyes him critically, sizing him up. “We are descended from generations of an ancient order of assassins, my son and I,” she tells Dick. “Although the Order is no longer active, their ways have thrived on through us. Damian excelled in his training before I sent him to live with his father. If you prove to be as efficient as him, I will grant you the resources you need for your search. With my blessings.”

Dick grips the cup tightly, meeting her stare without faltering. “And if I fail?”

“You will die.”

Dick agrees without a second thought.

\---

Dick proves to be better than Talia had ever expected, at least that’s what Talia says as she gifts him the escrima sticks that Dick had earned.

(It should’ve been a sword, but Dick had refused to take a life. Talia had been disappointed, but she’d told him that Bruce had refused, too. That had just strengthened Dick’s resolve.)

It’s been eight years and Dick has trained for every single day of those years. He has pulled through every trial Talia had given him, every obstacle she had placed in his way; every success is a scar somewhere on his body, and every failure a permanent mark on his soul.

Dick is no longer the same child that had once tried to run from her, and they both know it.

Dick rises from his kneel before her with her permission, and Talia, for once, smiles at him warmly, clasping his shoulder.

“He would have been proud of you,” she says.

“I’ll find him, Talia.”

Talia’s eyes are dark and pitying at his insistence, but Dick’s used to that. After all this time, the only one that shares his belief is Damian, and that’s enough for Dick. He doesn’t need anyone else. After all, no one else had come to find them after the funeral. Not even Clark.

Dick’s twenty-one now, and Talia keeps up her end of their deal. She gives him access to a Metropolis apartment that she owns, and gives him a new identity, along with Damian. She swears to not interfere, or tell any of Bruce’s old friends where they’ve gone.

Dick takes Damian to Metropolis and doesn’t look back.

Talia’s training had been limited when it came to technology, but Bruce had been teaching Dick useful hacking tricks since Dick had been nine.

(Sometimes Bruce would bring his work home, and Dick had wanted to spend time with his busy father. That had been how they’d compromised; Bruce could keep working, while Dick could help where he understood how.)

Dick had kept learning even while with Talia, although most of it had been self-taught. Fortunately, his knowledge had been enough to get him a job with LexCorp’s programming team.

When they’d gone away to live with Talia, Dick had taken Bruce’s tablet with him. It had been heavily encrypted, but Dick understood his father’s coding better than he’d ever understood the man himself. It hadn’t been difficult to decrypt the tablet and access the files inside it; what had been difficult was understanding the contents of the files.

Bruce apparently had terabytes’ worth of sensitive information Dick couldn’t even begin to understand, but what little Dick _did_ know, told him that the information was what had forced Bruce to disappear. 

The things that Mr. Wilson had told Dick about, things that Dick hadn’t understood back then but which Mr. Wilson had said made his father a criminal. They were all in that tablet.

Dick had checked the last file Bruce had accessed, and the name LexCorp at least, was something Dick had recognized. It was a building plan, and within it was a hidden video.

Dick hadn’t dared watch it. Not back then.

Now, sitting at the kitchen counter of their new apartment, Dick stands the tablet on the marble and looks over at Damian.

“Ready?” Dick asks.

Damian scoffs. “Are _you_?”

Dick grins at him and ruffles his hair, and Damian swats him away with an annoyed hiss. 

“Just play it, Grayson,” the kid grumbles.

Dick obliges.

The screen goes black for a moment before a loading icon appears in the centre. When it finishes loading, Dick’s breath catches in his throat as the grainy face of their father appears to fill the screen. Damian grabs at Dick’s hand, squeezing, and Dick squeezes him back without taking his eyes off of Bruce.

Bruce is looking at something above the camera, his eyes bluer than Dick remembers, and then he’s nodding and staring right at Dick.

 _“Agent Wayne, Bruce,”_ he says in his gravelly tone. _“Designation JL02. Debriefing report on Protocol Doomsday.”_

From beyond the frame of the camera comes a voice, faint but familiar. 

_“You don’t have to sound so serious, Bruce,”_ Clark says, and Bruce glares to the side briefly before looking back at the camera. 

_“Surveillance footage of Lex Luthor leaving Secretary-General Kane’s private residence on Monday, August 5th was recovered from the destroyed hard drives at TYGER Security. We have reason to believe that Luthor had visited Kane to persuade him to bid for the new weapon LexCorp has been engineering._

_“The existence of the weapon, informally dubbed ‘Doomsday’, has yet to be proven. However, Agent Kent had previously obtained schematics matching the rumoured capabilities of the Doomsday device. Luthor’s refusal to cooperate with investigations is also suspect._

_“Agent Kent and myself will be infiltrating LexCorp on August 7th, to collect the schematics and destroy any data that could be used to recreate Doomsday._

_“End report.”_

Bruce pauses and looks over the camera again. 

_“Stop recording,”_ he says. 

There’s a clicking sound, and the camera shakes for a moment before steadying again. Bruce’s gaze wanders away, tracking the movements of someone outside the frame, and then Dick sees Clark’s profile as the man leans down and catches Bruce’s lips in a kiss that shocks Dick. 

Damian makes a choked sound next to him, clutching tighter at Dick’s hand. It’s not so much the kiss that’s shocking but the fact that Bruce doesn’t even protest against it.

 _“Relax,”_ Clark says when he breaks the kiss. _“It’ll be quick. In and out, just like usual.”_

Bruce is frowning, looking unhappy. _“It’s too easy_ ,” he mutters.

Clark barks out a laugh and pulls Bruce up to his feet, and the only things in the frame now are their waists and their legs.

 _“I like easy,”_ Clark says.

They move, leaving the frame entirely, and then the camera shifts.

 _“You didn’t stop the recording,”_ Bruce says, accusatory.

The camera shifts again, then a hand covers the lens.

_“I’ll deal with it. Go say goodbye to the boys.”_

Bruce grumbles something inaudible in response and the screen freezes before the video ends and a replay button appears in the centre of it.

Dick is silent for the longest moment. His chest hurts, clenched with longing. He hasn’t felt this kind of pain since the knowledge that Bruce wasn’t coming back had settled into him, that day after the funeral. Back when the loss had still been fresh and raw.

“Why did he not tell us?” Damian asks quietly. He’s still gripping Dick’s hand too tight.

Dick thinks of an excuse but can’t come up with any.

“There were more important things to deal with,” he settles on saying. “I don’t know, Damian. But we can ask him when we find him.”

Damian grunts, shaking his head. He finally lets go of Dick, and Dick’s hand is numb by then.

“The date of the video,” Damian says. “Two nights before he disappeared. You were right.”

Dick nods, lips pursing. “It’s our best lead.”

Damian looks up at him, and it strikes Dick that his eyes are the exact same shade as Bruce’s, not lighter like Dick’s are. Damian has most of his mother’s features, but his eyes are clearly their father’s. It makes Dick’s heart ache worse.

“We’re going to find him,” Damian says.

It’s not a question, but Dick knows his little brother. It’s the closest Damian will ever get to seeking reassurance.

“We _will_ , Damian. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although Dick is officially a Wayne, Damian calls him by his mother's maiden name. Initially, it was because Talia's upbringing of him made him believe that Dick is an outsider and thus doesn't deserve to be a Wayne. Of course he changes his mind about it eventually, and now he does it with the utmost affection. Or something. ~~I just like Damian calling him Grayson, okay?~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick joins LexCorp and faces several challenges as he digs for clues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention that '---' denotes scene changes or timeskips, whereas line breaks are the start and end of flashbacks.
> 
> Warnings: Slade perves over Dick and Dick suffers mild PTSD. Also JayDick sexual tension ~~oomf~~. Um, I don't think there's anything else but mind the other tags too, I guess? Oh and _please_ ignore any hacking/programming bits that don't make sense, this was initially intended to be crack and I only know like, basic HTML. _Very_ basic HTML. Tried to ask my software engineering friends but they knew I was writing fanfic for it so they just told me to skim and get to the smut ~~even though there won't be anything explicit here this time le gasp~~. *insert derp meme*

Peter Todd cuts an extremely handsome figure amidst the lineup of impeccably dressed, middle-aged executives at LexCorp’s annual fundraisers’ gala.

Dick dislikes him intensely.

Todd is the head of the IT department and indirectly Dick’s superior. Dick has only spoken to him twice in the two months that he’s been working at the company, and both times had given Dick every reason to believe that the man is an utter _asshole_.

He’s attractive and he _knows_ it, and he’s so patronizing that Dick can barely bite his tongue whenever he hears Todd’s voice. 

(There’s also the way he _looks_ at Dick that makes Dick simultaneously want to punch him in his smug face and kiss his stupidly pretty lips. 

But Dick doesn’t like thinking about that. No, he doesn’t have time to entertain the idea of a hookup, let alone with a man that will compromise their plans if things between them don’t work out. 

Even if Dick catches himself looking right back whenever Todd is in the vicinity more times than he’d like to admit.)

Dick doesn’t understand why Todd’s so popular amongst the staff either, except maybe because of his looks. Dick’s heard enough fawning over the man’s thighs to last Dick a few lifetimes. It’s distracting.

Dick thinks Todd’s hiding something, too; maybe he’s even in league with whatever evil plans that Luthor has been cooking up. Everytime Dick gets close to finding a clue or a lead on the Doomsday device, Todd would botch Dick’s attempts to follow it, one way or another.

* * *

The first time it had happened, Dick had been trying to get past the security of LexCorp’s mainframe without triggering any alarms. Dick had been so close in succeeding when Todd had _specifically_ asked him to fix a bug in the R&D team’s data caches. Immediately.

There were about a dozen other programmers in Dick’s section; Dick’s not even one of the more experienced ones. Dick had been _pissed_ , to say the least, because at that point, he’d only met Todd _once_. He hadn’t even known Todd had remembered his name.

But Dick hadn’t been able to ignore a direct request like that without causing a scene, and so he’d let his hard work go to waste and done as he’d been told. When Dick had tried to re-access the mainframe, the whole thing had been turned over. Someone had changed the coding entirely.

Dick hadn’t just been pissed, really; he’d been alarmed.

For a moment, he’d thought that someone had caught onto him after all, that maybe he hadn’t been as sneaky as he’d thought. It wasn’t until many cautious days later that Dick realized it was a characteristic of the security Luthor designed.

Access codes changed every other day, but the program itself was dynamic. Even if Dick had gotten in on his first attempt, Luthor would have been alerted the moment the program re-rolled itself while Dick was still inside.

Dick learnt to be more careful after that.

He collected data from smaller caches, pockets of Luthor’s less protected servers. Most contained insignificant information, but still more than were accessible to the public. Instead of weapons of mass destruction, Dick found paper trails and evidence of fraud and bribery. Things that weren’t world-ending, but could still be used to bring Luthor down lawfully.

One day, Dick found a trail of transactions that didn’t make immediate sense; periodic deposits ranging between a few million dollars, all made by a Swiss account that was most notably not Luthor’s. 

External checking told Dick that the account owner was a Chinese national, whose name Dick had searched through the collective databases of both the FBI and the CIA. But nothing had turned up. Evidently, the name must have been an alias.

Dick had been collating the trail - it had been going on for more than five years, Dick realized - when Todd had once again interrupted him. 

He’d asked Dick to come up to his office. His _office_.

Dick had never seen _anyone_ but Luthor meet Todd in his pretentious, glass-walled office on the same floor as the most of the department’s teams, including Dick’s own. Dick had not been the only one to notice this.

“You must’ve really pissed him off, Tate,” Dick’s team leader, a redhead named Oliver Harper, had said. He’d sounded more impressed than anything else.

Dick had been very much less so. “I’ve barely even looked at him.”

Harper had laughed, slapping a hand on Dick’s back. “Well, you better get going before you _do_ piss him off. He’s not big on waiting. Good luck, kid.”

Todd had been looking over files when Dick had finally entered his office. He hadn’t even looked up at Dick’s entrance, the bastard.

“Have a seat, Mr. Tate,” Todd said, still not looking at him.

There were only two chairs in the room, one of which Todd was occupying. The other one was across from him, on the other side of his desk. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Dick asked. He’d sat down before realizing how rude that had sounded, and hastily added, “Sir.”

Todd smirked down at the file he’d been flipping through, before finally looking up and meeting Dick’s gaze. His eyes were teal, Dick absently noted.

“Not at all,” Todd said. “Your work on the security program for the boys in the basement caught Lex’s attention. Very impressive for a rookie.”

Dick hadn’t even remembered that. It had been something Harper had given him to do in his third week at LexCorp, when Harper had noticed that Dick had fixed every loophole in their standard network firewall in less than an hour. 

It’d been impenetrable by the time Dick had been done with it, and Harper had told him to do the same for every department’s remote network. Dick hadn’t minded; it had given him a reason to leave his virtual fingerprints everywhere without raising suspicions, just like he’d hoped.

“Mr. Harper asked me to make upgrades,” Dick said. “I made upgrades.”

Todd’s smirk widened. “Impeccably,” he said with a nod. “I just couldn’t help but notice that there was something familiar about your coding.”

Dick frowned, genuinely confused. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

“Please, call me Peter,” Todd said, shrugging. “We’re about the same age anyway.”

Dick twitched at that, just barely. “Of course, _Peter_ ,” he bit out. Because _of course_ Peter Todd was his age, and not just someone older that _looked_ young. 

Todd leaned back in his chair, propping an elbow on one of the arms and resting his chin on the back of his hand as his eyes studied Dick carefully.

“Have you ever worked for Wayne Enterprises, Mr. Tate?”

The mention of dad’s legacy startled Dick, but not enough to make his shock visible. Dick continued to act confused.

“You’ve seen my resume. This is my first job since college.” Thankfully, his voice remained calm, collected. Nothing to give away his emotional state.

Todd smiled. “Right, of course,” he said. “It’s just that your style possesses an uncanny resemblance to Wayne’s typical MO.”

Dick could tell that Todd _knew_ something. It put him on edge, and Dick sat stiffer, itching to get out of the room that was growing suffocatingly smaller.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that, sir.”

Todd’s smile sharpened, just a little, and he chuckled. “I told you, call me Peter,” he said.

Then he stood up, suddenly, still with that odd smile on his face. “Well, if that’s the case, you’re free to go back to your desk now, John.”

 _What happened to Mr. Tate_ , Dick thought sourly, but he stood up with a forced smile of his own.

“Thank you, Peter,” he said robotically. He turned around to leave, almost reaching the door when Todd called him back.

“Oh, and John?”

Todd wasn’t smiling when Dick turned to look at him, and there was something intense in his expression that caught Dick off-guard once more.

“I know we don’t have the most exciting job, but keep the nosing around at a minimum, okay?”

Dick was barely able to nod before he fled the room.

* * *

That had been two weeks ago. Dick hasn’t spoken or looked at Todd since, and he’d dreaded coming to the gala when he’d received the invitation.

Todd hadn’t been lying about Luthor’s attention on him, even though Dick had thought the rest of that little meeting had been utter bullshit. The invitation had been addressed to _John Tate_ , and signed by Luthor himself. Dick had been apprehensive about it.

It had never been his plan to actually _meet_ Lex Luthor. He’d been hoping to find the Doomsday weapon without anyone even remembering what Dick looks like, but Dick knows that contact with Luthor would help get them to the weapon faster. It all just feels a little _too_ fast.

[ **You look miserable** ,] Damian says into Dick’s earpiece, hidden by his artfully tousled curls. [ **Not even a homeless man would approach you with that frown** , **Grayson**.]

Dick chuckles quietly under his breath, rolling his eyes and lifting a champagne flute up to his lips to hide his whispered retort. “Not here to mingle.”

[ **No** , **you are there to ingratiate yourself with Lex Luthor** ,] Damian says. [ **He is known to enjoy the company of intelligent** **and attractive young men and women**. **Right now** , **you are neither**.]

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Dick mutters, but he knows that Damian is right.

Still. It’s been a _long_ time since Dick’s been to a gathering of this size, and while he’s always enjoyed the company of people when he was young, he hasn’t actually interacted with anyone but Damian and Talia for the better part of his teenage years. Dick’s appalled to admit that he’s a little out of practice.

[ **He’s not here yet** , **at least**. **_Try_ ** **to look a bit more enthusiastic before he arrives**.]

“Duly noted.”

The gala had started about two hours ago, without a single sign of Luthor. Dick had overheard some ladies talking about how it’s the norm though, and Luthor’s likely to show up sometime before midnight. 

In the meantime, the speaker had called up all the LexCorp executives in attendance to take the stage for a PR photoshoot after dinner had been served. Todd had been one of them. 

Dick’s been actively avoiding the man all night. 

Todd hasn’t dressed that much differently than he normally does for the office, but somehow, the particular suit he’s wearing for the event seems to make him look impossibly more gorgeous. 

It’s a dark red that looks almost black under the right light, three-piece and tailored to hug every inch of his toned body. Rather than a tie, he’s opted for a black cravat that should look ridiculous, but which accentuates his jawline instead, making it look sharper, more inviting.

His hair is less flat on his head too, not completely combed back like it usually is at work. He’s allowed some of it to fall gracefully onto his forehead, the white streak in his fringe dangling just so in a manner that brings attention to the arch of his brows and the shine of his eyes.

Dick idly wonders how soft Todd’s hair would feel under his fingers, before he catches himself and glares down at his drink.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Dick prides himself for not jumping at the sound of the familiar voice, especially when he looks up and sees a man that makes his vision tunnel, makes the noise of the rest of the occupants in the large ballroom fade completely into a muted hum, and time seems to come to a complete standstill. 

It’s just Dick and _him_ , frozen in a bubble of awful memories, and suddenly, Dick’s thirteen all over again, constantly shivering, helpless and _alone_ , with nothing but white walls and white floors and the _goddamn cold_ for company.

All Dick sees is _him_ , all he hears is _his_ voice, and Dick can’t do anything but stare blankly for what feels like an eternity, until time finally starts moving again and Dick can hear Damian’s frantic voice shouting in his ear.

[ **...-son**! **Grayson** , **_answer me_**! **Your vitals are fluctuating**. **_Do_** _._ ** _You_** _._ ** _Need_** _._ ** _Extraction_**?]

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Dick manages to say. It unnerves him to keep eye contact with that unforgettable gaze, but Dick tells himself that there’s no way the man will recognize him.

Dick’s _not_ that kid anymore. He’s _not._

[ **Are you** **_sure_**? **What’s happening** , **Richard**?]

“Surely it must be _something_ ,” Mr. Wilson says with a smile. “No one frowns that hard at nothing, least of all someone as beautiful as yourself.”

Dick feels sick at the compliment, but he forces himself to return the smile. “It’s really nothing, just a fly buzzing in my ear.”

Damian sputters indignantly at Dick’s words, which helps to distract Dick and make him feel less disgusted at having to play nice with the man that had once tried to turn Dick against his own father.

Wilson looks almost exactly how Dick remembers him, if not a little more grey at the temples, more wrinkled around his eyes. 

(And he has both eyes this time, no eyepatch like Dick remembers. It’s possible it’s not even him really, but then Dick can’t ever forget that cold emptiness in that eye, even if there are two of them now.)

He still towers over Dick like a behemoth.

Wilson reaches a hand out to him. “Slade Wilson. International Affairs.”

Dick had seen an _S. Wilson_ on the guest list, but he hadn’t thought it would be _this_ Wilson. He’d never known Mr. Wilson’s first name. Dick feels almost stupid now for not checking before.

Dick reluctantly accepts Wilson’s hand, but instead of the handshake he’d expected, Wilson raises Dick’s hand to his lips, planting a kiss on the back of it with a flirtatious smile. Dick’s stomach turns with disgust, and he has to hide a matching look behind a sip of his drink.

“John Tate, Inhouse Programming,” he says after swallowing. Wilson doesn’t let go of his hand, and Dick has to tug it gently before he does. He wants to punch the man in the face and hopes Damian will be proud of his restraint.

“I don’t believe we’ve ever met, John.”

 _Yes we have, you bastard_ , Dick thinks viciously. “No, I don’t think so. I’m new.”

Wilson’s smile widens. “I suppose a proper welcome is in order, then.” He places a hand on Dick’s shoulder, a friendly gesture that might’ve been innocent if not for the fingers that brush meaningfully over Dick’s collarbone. “A quieter place, what do you think?”

Dick shifts his stance, turning casually enough that it doesn’t seem too obvious that he’d meant for Wilson’s hand to drop from its perch on his shoulder. 

“Actually, Mr. Luthor asked me to come tonight. It would be rude if I left without seeing him first.” Dick affects a regretful moue, adding, “Sorry,” not meaning it at all.

Wilson chuckles, but his eyes narrow at Dick. “I see.” He tilts his head towards the centre of the ballroom, and offers his hand again. “How about a dance then?”

“Sorry old man, John’s supposed to be dancing with _me_ tonight.”

Wilson’s demeanour changes drastically at the arrival of the other man. His smile slips off, replaced by an annoyed sneer, and his whole body visibly tenses up.

“ _Todd_ ,” he says flatly, looking away from Dick to the man in question, approaching from Dick’s left. “How nice to see you again.”

Dick doesn’t take his eyes off of Wilson, but he can tell from the sound of Todd’s voice that the other man is sporting his usual smirk.

“And how unpleasant it is to see _you_ , as usual. How was Venezuela? Fucked a lot of crime lords on your trip?”

A vein above Wilson’s right eye twitches. “Excuse me, John,” he bites out, sparing Dick a glance before glaring back at Todd. “I’m feeling a little ill for some reason. I hope you enjoy the rest of the party.”

He stomps away like a petulant child that hadn’t gotten what they’d wanted, and Dick hears Todd snort quietly with amusement. 

Dick’s glad Wilson’s left, but he’s not so sure it’s a good thing because _Todd_ is still there. Todd, in his too-tight suit and his strong, warm hand now touching Dick’s elbow. Todd’s teal eyes are looking at Dick with barely-veiled concern.

“You okay?” Todd asks. “Wilson’s a creep. He’s one of those execs that won’t take no for an answer.”

“And _you_ aren’t?” The retort leaves Dick’s lips before he could think better of it, and he internally berates himself for the outburst. 

He doesn’t think he’d drank _that_ much to be losing his hold on his emotions now, and he’s sure Wilson’s sudden reappearance is to blame. Fortunately, Todd doesn’t seem to mind. He simply grins back in response.

“I haven’t even asked anything yet,” he says with a shrug. “Although an actual dance would be nice.”

Dick eyes him warily, but Todd lets go of Dick’s elbow and takes a respectful step back from him, giving him space. It’s more than Dick can say about Wilson.

“And if I say no?”

Todd grins again. “Then we’ll both stand here all night like a couple of idiots with two left feet.”

“Four,” Dick corrects him without thinking. Todd looks confused, and Dick explains, “If we both have two left feet each, we’d have four altogether.”

Todd laughs at the stupid joke, loud and unrestrained. Dick feels the back of his neck heat up at the sound of it, and finds himself fighting down a smile.

[ **Grayson**. **Security just called in** ; **Luthor is not attending the gala due to a personal emergency**.]

 _Personal emergency_? 

Damian scoffs, like he’s thinking the same thing Dick is.

[ **I will try to access the surveillance on his property to determine the nature of this** ‘ **emergency** ’. **You may leave the gala if you wish**. **There is nothing useful there**.]

Dick taps his fingernail against his glass loud enough for Damian to pick up his signal, and downs the rest of his champagne before depositing it on the tray of a passing server.

“I’m tired,” Dick says to Todd. “I think I’ll leave first.”

Todd looks surprised. “I thought you wanted to meet Luthor?” he asks. “Oh, my bad. That was just a ploy to not leave with Wilson, wasn’t it?”

Dick smiles at him. “Not really,” he confesses. “But I really _am_ getting tired, so maybe next time. It’s not like I don’t work for him or anything.”

“I’ll walk you out then,” Todd says, nodding towards the exit.

Sweet as it sounds, Dick feels a sliver of annoyance at his presumptuousness. “How chivalrous,” he says wryly.

Todd smirks. “Slade’s still watching you,” he explains. “Guy’s like a dog with a bone. I’m sure he won’t do anything _too_ bold, but considering I’m your head of department, you’re _my_ responsibility. I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

Dick glances around the ballroom and cringes when he notices that Todd is right. Wilson is far away, on the other end of the room, flanked by two women Dick vaguely recognizes from Finance. Even though he’s nodding at whatever it is that the women are chattering away to him, Wilson’s eyes are affixed on Dick. Just watching.

“You just don’t want to deal with the paperwork for sexual harassment,” Dick says to Todd, moving closer to the man and latching onto one of his arms.

“See, this is why I like you, John,” Todd says, chuckling as he leads them towards the exit. “You’re smart _and_ pretty. Great combination.”

“Excuse you. I’m _gorgeous. You’re_ pretty.”

“Is that so?”

“You don’t see Wilson hankering after _your_ pretty ass, do you?”

Todd bursts out laughing again at that, and Dick can’t help but grin back at him as they step out into the cold night air. 

“Can’t argue with that flawless logic.” Todd looks around at the street, then at the valet, asking Dick, “Did you drive?”

Dick shakes his head as he unlatches himself from Todd’s arm, ignoring how a part of him wishes that he doesn’t have to.

“I took a bus,” he says. Todd gapes at him, looking genuinely bewildered, and Dick frowns. “What?”

“You took a bus looking like _that_?” Todd asks, gesturing at the general vicinity of Dick’s body.

Dick rolls his eyes. “You do realize that majority of people in Metropolis aren’t sleazy old perverts like Wilson?”

Todd scoffs, digs out a card from his pocket and passes it to the valet. “I’m driving you home,” he declares.

“ _Todd-_ ”

“I told you to call me Peter.”

Dick glares at the other man, but Todd just shrugs. 

“Let me have peace of mind that you didn’t end up dead in an alley somewhere because I let you take a bus home alone in the middle of the night,” he tries to persuade. “Please?”

Dick narrows his eyes at him. A sleek, black SUV pulls up by their side, and the valet steps out of it, holding the door open for Todd.

“This technically constitutes as abuse of authority,” Dick tells Todd. “Coercion. A breach of my contract. There’s a clause that says I’m not allowed to have any personal relationships with anyone within the same department. This could be misconstrued as that.”

Todd tilts his head, humming thoughtfully. “This _could,_ ” he agrees. “But it could also just be your hot, young boss being nice for once and offering you a ride home.”

Dick narrows his eyes at him. “You’re not drunk, are you?”

Todd laughs. “Trust me, you’d _know_ if I were.” He gestures at the car. “Just get in. I swear I’ll pretend like we don’t even know each other on Monday.”

Dick can tell that Todd’s not letting this go. He’s sure that even if he rejects the ride, Todd will just drive behind the bus Dick’s going to take until he sees Dick walking up the steps to his apartment. He doesn’t know why he thinks so, but it sounds like the kind of ridiculously endearing thing that Todd might do. Just like how he’d easily rescued Dick from Wilson earlier.

This Todd is a far cry from the obnoxious Todd that Dick’s used to at work. He’s not sure yet if it’s a good thing or not, but decides to let the man have his way. For now, at least.

“Alright, but you’re _not_ walking me up to my door.”

“That’s reserved for the second date, got it. Now get in, I’m freezing my balls off out here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just noticed how pretentiously serious the summary sounds so I'll probably change it later. 'Crack treated seriously' sounds better, I think.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While their investigations slow down, Dick deals with his feelings - as well as Damian's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: I think there's just fluff ahead? Idk, Dick regresses to teenaged-crush mentality and also thinks he's a bad influence, while Damian has abandonment issues :( These boys need hugs.

Wilson turns up at LexCorp HQ frequently after the gala.

Dick spends more time avoiding him than he does doing anything else, and it’s starting to get frustrating. He’s sure that Wilson’s doing it on purpose too, trying to catch Dick alone like he had that night. He really _is_ like a dog with a bone.

It also doesn’t help that Todd has kept his word of pretending to not know Dick.

Dick’s not sure why it bothers him that Todd doesn’t even seem to _look_ his way anymore, let alone call him up for time-wasting tasks like he had before, but it _does_. Dick hates it. 

He hates that for a moment there, he’d thought that the two of them had _connected_ somehow during the course of that night, and it hurts that Todd doesn’t seem to feel the same way.

(Never mind that Dick is the one that had insisted on maintaining professional distance between them. He didn’t think Todd would’ve taken that seriously in the first place.)

Between Wilson’s unwanted attentions and Todd’s confusing mixed signals, Dick barely digs up anything new on the Doomsday device, not since the night before the gala. It feels like nothing is happening and all he’s doing is wasting time while the trail gets colder, and it just adds further to Dick’s frustrations.

It builds up so bad that he snaps at Harper on Friday, when the redhead is just calling out his name. Harper looks so shocked at Dick’s harsh tone that Dick immediately feels bad for it.

“Sorry, just- not feeling too good,” Dick says, wincing. “What did you need?”

Harper waves his apology away. “Lab rats downstairs said their server’s down and Anders just left for lunch,” he explains. “Mind taking a look?”

Dick nods and stands to leave, but Harper catches his arm, handing Dick a lanyard with Harper’s ID on it. “You’ll need it for B3 access,” he says.

Dick frowns, raising a brow at him. “I thought there were only two basement floors?”

Harper laughs and makes a shooing motion at him. “Third floor is where all the super secret shit happens,” he jokes. “Get off at B2 and take the service elevator down the hall to your left. Don’t call me if you get lost.”

\---

Dick clones the card on the way down to B3 using his phone, texting a copy of its encryption key to Damian as well.

The building plan in Bruce’s tablet for LexCorp hadn’t had anything about sub-ground floors beyond the second basement. Harper had been more right that he might think about the super secret shit there.

Anticipation thrums under Dick’s skin at the possibility that this might be the next lead they’d desperately needed. B3’s server is the only one Dick hasn’t had a peek at so far, and that’s if there aren’t any other hidden areas of the building that have remained undiscovered.

The floor consists of mostly walls when Dick steps out of the elevator. Everything’s gray, but brightly lit by white fluorescent lights along the ceiling.

The elevator exits out to a short hallway that breaks out into two more at the end of it. The left hall has three steel doors along it, each with crossbones emblazoned in their centres. The other hall has only one door, made of frosted glass.

There’s a control pad next to the glass door, and Dick makes his way over to it, testing Harper’s card. The pad blinks red before switching to green, and there’s a loud click as the door unlocks.

The room beyond it looks like a control centre, with floor-to-ceiling computer panels and monitors displaying video feeds from rooms that Dick doesn’t recognize. A few are different angles of the same room. Dick narrows down the actual number, and comes up with three; possibly the three on the other end of the hall earlier.

Each room seems to be filled with a gas that’s thick enough to be visible though the video feeds, and in the middle of them are thick, monolithic cylinders that faintly glow grey, blue and black each. There are people in biohazard suits milling around the cylinders, taking notes and checking panels next to the cylinders.

“What are you doing in here?”

Dick turns away from the monitors and sees a middle-aged, bespectacled man there, wearing a labcoat and a suspicious frown.

Dick raises Harper’s ID at him. “John Tate, from programming. You’re having problems with your server?”

The man visibly relaxes at Dick’s explanation. “That was fast,” he says appreciatively, adjusting his glasses as he makes his way over to a corner of the room, where a wall-mounted network cabinet hangs. “We couldn’t access it remotely since this morning. No idea what happened.”

Dick nods at him. “I’ll take over from here. You got a chair I could borrow?”

\---

Damian is sitting on the floor and hunched over the coffee table in the living room when Dick gets home from work.

“I smell pasta,” Dick says by way of greeting as he makes his way into the kitchen.

“Soba noodles,” Damian corrects him without turning away from whatever it is that he’s working on. “With sweet peas. Wash up before you soil my food with your filthy hands.”

Dick hums as he stands over the bowl of the promised food that Damian had left out for him. It’s ridiculously healthy, as it always tends to be when Damian’s in charge of the kitchen, but it also smells good.

He washes his hands and grabs the bowl and a fork before joining Damian in the living room. He sits on the sofa behind the kid, folding his legs under him as he tucks into the food.

“How was school?”

Damian grunts. “Droll. How was work?”

“Productive.” Dick swallows down almost half the bowl before he continues, “Either dad’s building plans were outdated, or I just found proof that LexCorp is running illegal experiments in top-secret basements.”

Damian stops writing and looks up at Dick, one brow raised critically. “Well? I assume you’ve gained access to these ‘top-secret basements’ you speak of?”

He even makes air quotes as he asks, and Dick pouts at him. “Don’t I get a congratulatory kiss first?”

Damian throws his pencil at Dick, which Dick deftly avoids. “Rude,” he says with a grin. “Fine, you don’t have to get violent about it. I got in, yeah, but I couldn’t poke around too much without raising suspicions. You might need to monitor activity on the server for a day or two, get the lay of the land.”

Damian nods. He holds his hand out towards Dick, palm-up, and Dick is confused for a moment before realizing that he’s asking for his pencil back, which had landed in between the cushions on the sofa.

Dick passes the pencil to him, and Damian goes back to scribbling in the book he has open on the coffee table.

“Is that for school?” Dick asks, going back to slurping down his noodles.

Damian grunts distractedly. “Not quite. Miss Lane advised that working on something trivial such as sketching may help me to better control my temper.”

Dick’s eyes widen with surprise and he nearly chokes on his noodles. “You- you’re admitting that you have a temper?” he asks, aghast.

Damian’s eyes flicker up briefly in warning, not deigning to answer Dick’s question.

Dick smiles, at the same time that his chest clenches briefly with pain. “Who’s Miss Lane, anyway? One of your teachers?”

“The school counsellor.”

The ache grows as Dick waits for Damian to say more, but the kid’s attention is wholly on his sketch now. It hurts, the brush-off, but Dick doesn’t want to annoy his little brother by pushing either.

Damian had- Damian’s always been a ‘precocious child’. Dick remembers that from their father’s meetings with Damian’s teachers, back when Damian had been five and he was already being recommended to skip three grades higher due to his ‘potential’. 

Their father had refused, because he’d wanted Damian to be with kids his own age. He hadn’t wanted Damian to miss out on being a kid, especially considering his earlier, isolated years with Talia.

When they’d been younger, Dick had never thought of it as anything bad or worrying, Damian being far too mature and serious for someone so young.

Now, though... 

It’s not lost on Dick, how much of his and Damian’s childhood had been ripped away from them after their father- since their father’s supposed demise. And with their single-minded goal to uncover the truth behind it-

Sometimes Dick wakes up in the middle of the night from a nightmare where Damian dies in his arms, eyes wide and lifeless, but his lips still moving.

 _It’s all your fault,_ he would say. _You were supposed to take care of him. Father trusted you to._

Dick never sees how Damian dies, but something in the dreams tell him it _is_ his fault.

It doesn’t make sense, and rationally, Dick knows it’s not real and it’s not likely to become real either. 

Still, Dick can’t help but feel guilty sometimes, for the life that they’re leading now. Dick is Damian’s older brother. He shouldn’t be dragging the kid down like this, into this personal mission of theirs. 

He should’ve left Damian with Talia, left him to grow up the way a kid _should_ grow up; not living under fake names with fake lives, playing at corporate espionage.

And if they fail? If they never find their father? If- if Bruce really _is_ dead after all? What happens then?

What happens to them?

“Grayson. Grayson!”

Dick blinks, surprised to find Damian standing close to him, eyes narrowed with a wary frown. 

“If you’re tired, you should go to bed,” he says. “I will clean up.”

Damian takes Dick’s nearly-empty bowl from his hands before Dick can even protest, and stomps away to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to, little D,” Dick says belatedly, standing from the sofa. “I’m fine.”

He hears water running in the sink, and when he enters the kitchen, Damian is scrubbing the bowl ferociously like it had just insulted his mother.

“You could have a knife in your gut, bleeding to death on the floor and you would still insist to me that you were fine,” Damian grumbles. “You are not impressing anyone here, Grayson.”

Dick laughs, leaning against the kitchen doorway, watching Damian fondly. “Is that from personal experience?”

“Mother has told me all about your training. The snake in the bottle is my personal favourite.”

“That- oh my god, that was _not_ my fault! Why would she tell you about that!”

“Mother told me everything about you. She worries that you will meet your end sooner than you should if I were not made aware of your weaknesses to take the necessary precautions.”

“Wh- well she never told me any of yours! Isn’t it fair that I be _made aware_ of your weaknesses too then?”

“That’s because I have none, Grayson.”

Dick’s not sure whether he wants to strangle or hug his little brother to death at the smug little smirk that accompanies his boast, but he’s saved the trouble of deciding when the front door buzzes loudly.

They both freeze, tense and alert, and Damian drops the bowl and slips a hand inside his pocket to pull out a kunai instead.

“Were you expecting company?” he asks.

Dick shakes his head, motions for Damian to keep quiet, and then heads out cautiously towards the front door. He grabs the innocent-looking cane leaning against the corner to the right of the door and grips it tightly as he looks out into the peephole.

He subsequently drops the cane in surprise and it clatters against the wooden floorboards loudly.

“ _John_?” he hears Todd’s muffled voice calling through the door. “ _I_ _can hear you in there_. _Your neighbours are getting suspicious so please open the door._ ”

“Who is that?” Damian hisses behind Dick and Dick waves him away.

For some reason, he feels flustered, and he doesn’t want Todd to see Damian, or for Damian to see Todd either. It’s an irrational, fight-or-flight response and Dick has no idea what’s triggering it but he is very sure that he needs to get rid of Todd. Fast.

“Go to your room, I’ll handle this,” he says to Damian, just as Todd rings the buzzer again.

Damian squints at Dick, suspicious little shit that he is, and it’s not until Dick flaps a hand at him exasperatedly before Damian finally turns and stalks down the hall, back into the living room, huffing the whole way.

Dick pulls the door open once Damian’s out of sight, and Todd startles on the other side, one of his hands hanging in the air, poised to press the buzzer again.

“Hi,” he says, grinning brightly.

“What are you doing here?” Dick demands, glancing behind Todd at the deserted hallway before grabbing the man’s wrist and pulling him inside, hastily kicking the cane on the floor out of the way too.

“Well, I _was_ thinking of asking if you wanted to go for a drink, but it’s pretty clear that you’re not too happy to see me,” Todd says.

Dick bolts the door before he turns to Todd, and realizes that the other man is watching him curiously.

Todd’s intense gaze makes Dick flush, and Dick’s not sure he _wants_ to know why. It takes point five seconds too long for Dick to register what Todd had just said, and he feels his cheeks heat up further in embarrassment.

“No, it’s not- you just caught me at a bad time,” Dick stammers - _stammers_ , god, what’s _wrong_ with him. “Sorry.”

Todd smiles, holding out a lump of cloth he’d had draped over one arm. “Relax, I was just messing with you,” he says. “I actually came to return this. You left it in my car last week and I didn’t get the chance to give it to you until today.”

Dick takes the jacket and realizes that, _oh_. It _is_ his jacket. He hadn’t even noticed he’d lost it. “Thanks, you didn’t really have to-” 

Todd shrugs with an easy smile that makes Dick’s words catch in his throat. “It’s fine, I finally had the time, so I figured I might as well drop by.”

They stand there for a moment, silence falling between them, and Dick belatedly realizes that he should _say_ something, but the only thing he can think of is-

“You mentioned a drink,” he blurts out. “Do you- you want anything?”

That’s not at all what he’d planned to do. In fact, Dick should be shoving Todd right back out the door instead of giving him any excuse at all to stay, but it would be even more suspicious to withdraw that offer now.

Dick’s mentally berating himself when Todd, unfortunately, accepts the offer.

“Sure,” he says. “Lead the way. Unless of course, you want me to drink right here?”

He’s grinning as he says this, teasing and smug in that way that had earned Dick’s dislike for him in the beginning. But all that grin does now is give Dick _ideas_ about things he _shouldn’t_ be having ideas about, and instead of replying, Dick whirls on his heels and quickly strides back towards the kitchen.

He doesn’t even check to make sure Todd’s following him, but Dick’s too preoccupied trying to fight down the stupid blush on his cheeks and the fact that he’s starting to feel hot under his clothes.

His _clothes_ ; Dick’s still wearing the stupid shirt and pants from work even though it’s coming on 8 in the evening already, and hopes Todd won’t think any less of him for it. And then he proceeds to tell himself to not care, because _why the hell should he care_.

Why the hell is he even overreacting like this? Just hours ago, he’d been sure he would rather watch Todd drop down a bottomless hole than stand to be in the same room with him for more than a minute, and hadn’t Todd himself been acting like Dick doesn’t even exist?

Dick tries to remind himself of all the reasons why he should not like Todd, or why he should not want Todd in his and Damian’s apartment, or why he should not be entertaining possibilities of Todd maybe wanting to do this again in the future-

But then he feels Todd behind him, so close that Dick can practically feel his heat radiating off of his body, as Dick reaches up into a cupboard to pull out glasses, and the only thing his brain is willing to do is remind Dick that Todd had been nice to him at the gala.

And Todd has _very nice_ legs and a very attractive face and Dick’s never- Talia had trained him in the art of seduction but Dick has never before _wanted_ someone’s touch for absolutely no reason besides the simple desire to _feel_ it, and Talia had never prepared him for _that_.

“I hope this is for soda because I’m not looking forward to a DUI,” Todd very nearly whispers into Dick’s ear, and Dick is startled when Todd’s hand falls against the back of Dick’s own as Dick wraps his fingers around a glass in the cupboard.

Dick jerks back instinctively at the contact, only to hit back against Todd behind him, and he jumps away like a frightened cat, rushing towards the island counter and turning to face Todd with apprehension.

Todd looks almost as shocked as Dick, his eyes wide and his jaw slack. 

“Whoa,” he says, raising his hands in the air. “Sorry, that- I was just trying to help.”

He sounds sincere, and his expression is a mixture of worry and confusion. Dick forces his racing heart to calm and shakes his head, reaching behind him to grab the edge of the counter to ground himself.

“It’s fine, I’m just-” he starts, but his voice sounds odd, squeaky and too high, and Dick coughs before forcing himself to continue in a more normal tone, “Sorry, I might be more tired than I thought.”

Todd nods slowly, no longer confused. His brows furrow though, and he still looks worried. _Probably wondering if I’ve lost my mind_ , Dick thinks a little hysterically to himself.

“I could just leave,” Todd says, gesturing back towards the hall. “I didn’t mean to force my company on you.”

A part of Dick rejoices at this chance to get rid of Todd, but a part of him _really_ doesn’t want him to go, at least not yet. This is the first time in a week since Todd’s looked at him like Dick is someone he knows, and Dick- Dick maybe hadn’t realized before that he doesn’t actually _mind_ Todd looking at him.

“Yes, I think leaving would be best right now,” Damian’s voice rings out through the kitchen.

Dick has only a second to wonder what on earth he’s done in his past life to deserve this kind of embarrassing punishment before Todd’s eyes widen as he looks over at the doorway leading to the living room, and then back at Dick.

“John, you didn’t tell me you had a kid,” Todd says.

 _God,_ _please kill me right now_. “He’s not my-”

“I’m his brother, you moronic fool.”

 _Fuck_.

To Dick’s relief, Todd doesn’t appear at all offended by Damian’s insult. In fact, he grins, looking amused and maybe even delighted, for some reason. “My bad. I guess you do look too old to be John’s kid. So, are you living with him or just visiting?”

“He’s just visiting,” Dick says, finally finding his voice, but at the same time Damian flatly declares, “We live together.”

 _Goddamn it, Dami_ , Dick thinks, turning to glare at Damian warningly before shooting Todd a weak smile. “He’s living with me while our parents are abroad,” he explains.

Todd glances between the two of them, smiling and nodding, but there’s something in his eyes that makes Dick wonder if he believes the lie.

 _Right_. _Time to shut this down_. _Right the fuck now_.

“You know what,” Dick says, moving towards Todd and taking a hold of his arm, gently ushering him towards the hall. “It’s been a long day, work’s been busy lately. I’m tired, you’re tired, why don’t you go home and I’ll see you next week at the office.”

“Um, okay?”

Dick manages to get Todd out on the other side of the front door, but the man looks a bit lost and Dick- goddamn it, he can’t help but feel bad, and he pauses before he closes the door on his boss.

“Raincheck on that drink?” he says, as casually as he can manage despite the fact that he can feel his cheeks heating up once more.

Todd nods, smiling again, but with a lot less of the confidence he normally has. “Sure, John,” he says. “Have a good night.”

“Good night, Peter.”

Dick stands at the door after he closes it, looking through the peephole at Todd. Todd stands there, staring back at him for about ten seconds before he shakes his head, smiles a little, and then walks away. Dick waits until he’s out of range of the peephole before he finally goes back to the kitchen, where Damian is standing expectantly, arms crossed and expression sour.

“What was that about?” he demands the moment Dick is near.

Dick shoots him a disbelieving glare in response. “It was nothing,” he says, throwing the jacket he realizes he’d been holding this whole time at the island counter. “That was Todd. He came to return that stupid jacket because I left it in his car last week.”

Damian’s eyes narrow. “What were you doing in his car?”

“He gave me a ride home from the gala, Dami, I told you about that.”

“If that’s really all he did, then why were you intent on letting him believe I am simply here to ‘visit’?”

“Because it’s safer if nobody knows we’re living together?” Dick frowns as Damian appears to grow angrier at Dick’s explanation. Warily, he adds, “What’s got you so riled up, Dami?”

“Because I’m not as dense as you, Grayson!” Damian says haughtily. “That- that _man_ obviously has sinister designs on you and you just advertised to him what a _harlot_ you are!”

“ _Harlot_?” Dick sputters, gaping at his little brother. “How on earth did I do _that_?”

Damian makes a frustrated sound, throwing his hands up in the air like Dick is the one behaving irrationally right now.

“Forget it!”

Damian turns and stomps back out into the living room, but Dick’s not having any of that. No matter how unconventional their lives are right now, he’s not letting his little brother get away with calling him a _slut_ without at least explaining _why._

Dick runs after him, and manages to catch Damian before the kid can lock himself inside his room.

“Hold on a minute, Damian,” Dick says, trying to sound stern as he turns Damian by his shoulder to face him. “I don’t understand why you’re angry or what made you jump to that conclusion. And you shouldn’t be calling people that, it’s rude.”

Damian clenches his jaw and glares up at him. He doesn’t try to get away from Dick though, which is enough to tell Dick that he’s willing to talk about- about whatever this is.

“Look, if it’s about our shared living status, we’ve discussed it,” Dick tries. “We keep our connection to each other a secret, it gives people less things to remember us by when we ghost. We don’t _know_ if anybody knows we’re digging into the Doomsday device, but the less people know about who John Tate is, the better.”

Damian purses his lips, and for a moment, Dick thinks he might still be angry. But then Damian squeezes his eyes shut and he crosses his arms over his chest defensively.

“And you having an interest in Peter Todd has nothing to do with keeping up that appearance?” he asks, in that flat tone Dick knows he only uses when he’s genuinely upset.

And Dick immediately feels guilt wrenching at his gut.

“Damian,” he sighs, resting both his hands on Damian’s shoulders. Damian flinches slightly at his tone, and Dick remembers with painful clarity that his little brother is still just a _kid_. “Damian, I don’t have an interest in Todd.”

Damian’s eyes fly open and the look in them is blatant disbelief mixed in with accusation.

“Okay, I think he’s _hot,_ alright?” Dick amends, and Damian flinches again. “But that doesn’t _mean_ anything. I think a lot of people are hot, but it’s like thinking the weather is nice today, or the wallpaper’s a pretty shade of pink. It’s just- I won’t let it go anywhere, okay? I don’t _want_ Todd, Dami. I want to find _dad._ ”

Dick can count on one hand the number of times that he’s seen Damian cry, and it’s always been because of something earth-shattering. Between the two of them, Dick’s always been the more emotional Wayne.

It takes monumental effort to make Damian Thomas Wayne shed a tear over anything, but it doesn’t mean that Dick doesn’t know what to do when it happens.

So when Damian chokes back a sob and starts shaking where he stands, Dick pulls him close and hugs him tightly, running his hands down Damian’s back and hair, cooing into his ear. He doesn’t ask him to stop, and he doesn’t lie and say that everything’s going to be alright - because Damian hates liars and Dick _doesn’t know_ if anything will ever be alright.

But he will always be there for his little brother, and that’s what he promises Damian as they clutch at each other in front of the door to Damian’s room, and Dick lets Damian cry his eyes out for the first time in eight years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On an unrelated note, my sister - who is not into DC - was asking me about Suicide Squad and Harley Quinn but she said Harlot Quinn instead and now I'm still laughing about it. 
> 
> Also I never mentioned this isn't beta'd, so if you spot any spelling/grammar errors, let me know! <3 Thank you for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick makes a few shocking discoveries and comes to some terrible conclusions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: All the related rape/non-con tags come into play here. It's not graphic, I don't think, but it's not exactly glossed over either. You can skip the paragraphs and just read the dialogue during the Slade/Dick scene if you don't think you can handle it. Also heavily implied past one-sided Bruce Wayne/Slade Wilson. On the upside, Jason comes clean to Dick! Sort of.

It’s almost two weeks since Dick had discovered the secret basement floor before he gets the chance to physically poke around again down there.

The past week had been full of discoveries.

Once Damian had finally been able to map out the server’s defenses, Dick had spent most of his time at work sifting through enormous amounts of encrypted data. The encryption hadn’t been the problem, but the data had been confusing, to say the least.

Most of it had sounded like gibberish to Dick, littered with more medical and scientific jargon than Dick could look up the meanings of in just 8 hours a day. And some _were_ actually gibberish; Dick had figured they were in another language, but it hadn’t been any language Dick had ever heard of, nor could he find it on the internet.

Dick had initially wanted to give up on this lead, since nothing amidst the data he _could_ understand seemed remotely related to a weapon of mass destruction. But Damian had rationalised that perhaps Doomsday’s schematics might be in code, since Lex Luthor had always been known to be a paranoid man, and every code had to have its cipher.

That’s how Dick finds himself sneaking back down to B3 with a cloned copy of Harper’s keycard, striding confidently to dissuade anyone passing by that he’s not actually supposed to be down there. 

But it’s lunch time, and the control room Dick had been in before is deserted when he enters this time, and he slips on the tiny earpiece Damian had passed to him and clicks it on before settling down at a desk in the corner where there’s an open laptop on the table.

“Big D to little D, do you copy?” he says cheerfully as he docks an inconspicuous USB into the laptop and bypasses the log-on page.

[ **Did you just refer to yourself as** **_big D_**?]

Dick smiles, typing away. “Maybe. I’m accessing the hard drive right now. What’s a cipher supposed to look like?”

[ **Not what you might think it would** ,] Damian says unhelpfully. [ **Wait** , **go back**. **Two folders up**. **The one on the right** \- **yes**. **Get that one**.]

“Is that it?”

[ **Of course not**. **Go back to the local network**. **Good** , **now search for K-R-Y-P-T-O-N**.]

“Krypton? _Whoa,_ that is- How the hell did you know this?”

[ **Your keylogger revealed it as a frequently used term by the employees down there**.]

“Are you saying that was a _guess_?”

[ **An** **_educated_ ** **guess** , **which you wouldn’t know anything about**. **Now stop wasting time and parse through for unique characters**. **You have precisely fifteen minutes before the guards might start noticing the timestamps on the security feeds don’t tally**.]

Dick grins to himself as Damian clicks their com-link off, copying the files he’s found at the same time he alters the data registry. It won’t erase what he’s done completely, but it would take time to trace if anyone suspects anything.

It’s the riskiest thing he’s done since his last encounter with Luthor’s mercurial mainframe security system, and Dick feels himself feeling an odd mix of excitement and fear. If anyone catches him here right now, he can lie and say that Harper had sent him down for a routine check.

But the lie will only work if no one actually _asks_ Harper if he had, and if the lie doesn’t work at all and Dick is reported and taken to security- or worse, taken to _Luthor-_

He _can’t_ get caught.

Dick has eight minutes left on the clock by the time he’s done copying over all the files with the peculiar tag, and he undocks the USB and rushes towards the door without actually running.

He’s nearly out of there when something catches his eye from one of the monitors, and he pauses to look.

It’s movement, from one of the rooms with the biohazard signs on the door. Something pale and skin-coloured is emerging amidst the gaseous mist layering the floors, and then a hand materializes and presses up against the blue cylinder, followed by the back of a head covered in short, dark hair. 

Dick watches the scene with fascination, as what looks like a human being struggles to stand up, using the cylinder for support. It looks like a man, with thick, corded muscles and a strangely familiar broad frame that’s attached to a narrow waist. 

He looks- Dick can’t explain it, but he can tell that the man is _weak_ despite his built body, and that just staying on his feet is taking a lot out of him. 

Gut instinct tells Dick that there’s something wrong with the scene. Something _sinister_ about the man’s condition, and then the man turns to lean up against the cylinder on his side, and Dick _knows that face_.

It’s _Uncle Clark_.

Dick’s brain shorts at the discovery, but he doesn’t have much time to dwell on his shock.

A loud, shrill sound blares throughout the room, an alarm of some sort, and the lights shut off only to be replaced by emergency lights that blink ominously in tune with the beat of the alarms. Dick has to press his hands against his ears to avoid going deaf, and rushes to move towards the door.

Except, when he pulls the door open, the hallway outside is roaring with the sound of several footsteps pounding down it, and people shouting and yelling, and Dick quickly shoves the door closed again, pressing his back against it as his heart races with fear.

 _I’m fucked_ , he thinks frantically. There’s no other way out of there, and if any one of those people outside were to check the room-

He’s considering a hundred and one scenarios in which Damian has to live through Dick getting sent to prison when he notices there’s a vent in the side wall, near the floor by the monitors.

Twelve by six inches, steel but with aluminium finish; big enough for Dick to squeeze through and weak enough for him to force the screws off.

Dick dives towards it without a second thought.

\---

It feels like a dream by the time Dick finally gets home that day.

He hadn’t- he’d spent the rest of the day actively pretending that nothing had happened.

He’d been disheveled and covered in dust by the time he’d made it out of the vent system. It had taken a lot of crawling and scrambling and climbing, but he’d gotten out the other end to the outside of the building.

Harper had been confused by his appearance when Dick had finally returned to his desk, but Dick had made up an excuse that he doesn’t even remember about now - and that’s going to be a bitch to deal with if it comes up again in future - but which Harper had readily accepted.

No one seemed to have heard the alarms going off at B3.

“Are you sick?”

Dick jumps at the question. He’d been so lost in his daze that he hadn’t realized he’d sat down on the sofa and just- stared at nothing. Damian’s standing in front of him with a scowl, Bruce’s tablet held in one of his hands.

“No, I’m fine,” Dick says. He runs his hands over his face and takes a deep breath. “Earlier, after you- after I got the files. I saw something.”

The sofa shifts as Damian settles on it next to him. “What did you see?”

Dick chuckles, leaning back and looking up at the ceiling. “You’re going to think I’m crazy,” he says weakly.

“I already think you’re an idiot.”

Dick chuckles again at the response. “Fair point.” He thinks back on the monitors, on the face of the man in them, and says, “I saw Uncle Clark.”

Damian is silent for a moment. And then, “Did he see _you_?”

“No,” Dick says quickly, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, it wasn’t like that. Do you remember the rooms I told you about? The ones in B3?”

“Of course.”

“... I saw him in one of them. On the cameras in the control room.”

Dick hears Damian inhale sharply, and quickly adds, “But he looked _different_. Like- like he was _sick_ but not _sick_ sick. Just. _Weak._ I’ve never- I don’t remember ever seeing him like that before and it felt _wrong._ ”

“Are you implying that Luthor is keeping him prisoner in one of those rooms?” Damian asks sharply.

Dick shakes his head. “I don’t know _what_ I’m implying, Dami,” he confesses. He opens his eyes and cranes his neck to look at his brother. “I don’t even know what I saw.”

Damian looks back at Dick silently, his brows furrowed in contemplation.

“I am not sure what you wish me to do with this information,” he says after a moment. “Kent abandoned us. Despite what we saw of his and father’s relationship, Kent has not reached out to us even once in the past eight years.”

“What if he _couldn’t_?” Dick asks in a hushed tone. “What if- what if he didn’t believe dad was dead either, and he went back to LexCorp to look for him and Luthor caught him and he’s been keeping him prisoner all these years-”

He stops himself before he can verbalize the thought that’s been haunting him since he’d left B3 that afternoon, and closes his eyes again. In a scared, tiny voice, he says, “What if dad’s in one of those rooms too?”

Dick forces his eyes open when he feels Damian’s hand reaching for his own, twining their fingers together, and the look on Damian’s face reflects all the terrible feelings swirling inside Dick that Dick can’t even begin to voice out.

“Then we must hurry and find him,” Damian says softly after a moment. “This is what we have wanted all along. For father’s death to have been a sham.”

“... Yeah, but at what cost?” Dick squeezes Damian’s hand, wishing he possessed half the poise that his little brother has. “What if whatever it is that Luthor’s doing to him- to _them_ … I’m scared, Damian. What if we don’t like what we’ll find?”

“If it gives us a chance to see father alive again, then it is a risk I am willing to take. Aren’t you? Now come; if you are going to allow your worries to keep you awake, you may as well assist me with deciphering Luthor’s code.”

\---

It’s easier than expected to pretend that nothing’s wrong, the next day at work.

Dick itches to return to B3 and _make sure,_ to burst into those rooms and tear them apart to find out if dad- if he’s really down there or not, especially after some of the horrible things that they’d discovered last night upon decoding Luthor’s files.

( _Experiments_ indeed. It’s not a wonder Bruce had been investigating Luthor. The man is _sick._ )

But it’s easy to ignore that itch when he actually has to perform the job he’s officially being paid by LexCorp to do, on top of the fact that Wilson’s harassment still hasn’t let up.

Dick’s so used to playing the part of too-busy-to-talk-sorry that it’s second nature by now whenever he spots Wilson’s white hair in his peripherals.

Sometime before lunch, Harper’s at his desk, briefing him about a new bug that’s turned up in Finance’s networks, when Harper suddenly leans down close to Dick and mutters in his ear, “Skeezer alert.”

Dick’s confused for a split second before he glances up and sees Wilson at the other end of the hall, striding purposefully towards Dick’s cubicle.

Dick grimaces before he can stop himself, and Harper squeezes his shoulder before straightening up and making a show of asking Dick to go up to Finance and get more hands-on with their stupid bug.

“It’s probably some intern downloading porn, but just to be safe, ya know?” Harper’s saying loudly, clapping Dick on the back. “Get your ass up there ASAP, Tate.”

“Right away, sir,” Dick says, more than happy to play along as he gathers his laptop and stands up.

“Busy day?”

Too late, Wilson’s already at Dick’s desk, but Harper clasps Dick’s shoulder and nudges him aside.

“Afternoon, Mr. Wilson,” Harper says cheerfully. “What brings you down to our little lair again?”

Wilson glances at him only briefly before fixing his gaze on Dick. “I’ve been having trouble with my OS recently. I’ve heard John here is a magician with software.”

“Anders is a whiz herself,” Harper says pointedly. “Why don’t I send her up to your office?”

Wilson smiles, waving a dismissive hand at Harper. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure John wouldn’t mind helping me out, would you John?”

“Actually, I’ve got finance to deal with right now,” Dick says as innocently as he can manage, inching to side-step Wilson. “They’re really picky about who sees their browser history-”

He’s stopped by Wilson’s hand catching at his elbow, and Dick thinks Wilson’s lucky Dick is holding his laptop in both his hands, because he’s not sure if he wouldn’t have punched the man for touching him this time. Dick looks over at Harper for help instead.

“Nonsense,” Wilson says, either oblivious or uncaring of the annoyed glare on Harper’s face. “Finance can have Anders, I’ve been trying to catch your for weeks now, John. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were avoiding me.”

Dick has to unhinge his teeth before he can force a smile and say, “Of course not, sir.”

Wilson’s own smile widens. “Of course not,” he echoes, and then he’s guiding Dick towards the elevators. “Come along then. Thank you, Harper.”

Dick thinks he hears Harper cursing quietly behind him as he’s led away by Wilson, but it’s probably his own apprehension projecting itself. He dreads going anywhere with Wilson, but he’s delayed any awkwardness by the fact that the elevator’s full when they get on, and Dick pulls out of Wilson’s hold with the excuse to make room in the cramped space.

They’re heading towards Wilson’s office anyway though, and Dick tries to drag out the moment before he has to spend time alone with the man in an enclosed space by dragging his feet, following behind Wilson as slowly as he can without being too obvious. Wilson doesn’t seem too bothered by it; he knows he’s got Dick now.

Wilson’s office is nothing like Todd’s, is the first thing Dick thinks when he enters it, Wilson holding the door open for him like the gentleman that he’s not.

It’s all wood paneling inside, for one thing, no glass doors or walls. The only thing made of glass in there is the large window on the side, facing the other side of the building. The walls inside are covered with bookshelves, and there’s a large wooden desk on one end with a leather sofa leaning against the wall by the door.

It looks more like a psychiatrist’s office than that of a foreign affairs director’s for LexCorp, and Dick stands in the middle of the room apprehensively as he waits for Wilson to give him any direction.

“You can have my seat,” he says, and Dick nearly jumps when Wilson brushes past him a little too closely. “It’s logged in so you can get right on it.”

Dick tries not to grind his teeth and says, “Of course, sir,” as he makes his way over to the desk.

There’s a laptop open there, and Dick places his own next to it before sitting down. Out of the corner of his eyes, he keeps track of Wilson’s movements, and warily notes the man moving to what looks like an honest-to-god minibar to the side of the desk.

He’s pouring something, Dick hears as he accesses Wilson’s laptop, and then Wilson is moving to stand close at Dick’s side. He makes a show of watching Dick clicking away on the laptop, placing a glass of whiskey on the desk.

“Have a drink, John,” Wilson says, and Dick _does_ tense up when one of Wilson’s hands drops on Dick’s shoulder. “You look like you could use it.”

Dick forces himself to relax, glancing up at Wilson with a fake smile. “I couldn’t, sir,” he says. “I’m on the clock, remember?”

He could’ve sworn Wilson’s eyes flash when their gazes meet, but Dick’s already staring back at the laptop’s screen, not wanting to look at the man longer than necessary.

“A professional,” Wilson chuckles. “I admire that about you, John. So proper and serious all the time.” He squeezes Dick’s shoulder, and adds, “Just like your father.”

Dick stops typing at his words, not quite sure he’d heard that right. But then Wilson’s pulling him back, dragging the chair and turning it until Dick’s facing him, and when Dick looks up, Wilson’s smile has taken on a far more ominous turn.

“Sir?” Dick tries to keep his expression neutral, to keep his voice guileless and confused despite his heart starting to race in his chest. “I’m not sure what-”

Wilson slams the glass he’s holding onto the desk, and Dick’s mouth clamps shut with surprise. Dick’s starting to panic when Wilson leans down towards him, his hands gripping onto the arm rests of Dick’s chair, and then their noses are just inches apart.

“You have your father’s eyes, _Richard_ ,” Wilson says softly. “That’s what gave you away. No one forgets the eyes of a heartbreaker.”

It takes Dick’s brain three seconds to process what’s happening. Three seconds for him to decide what he has to do next. Three seconds before Dick pulls back and slams his forehead against Wilson’s nose, and as Wilson staggers backwards with a surprised grunt, Dick bolts out of the chair and towards the door of the office.

Except, it’s locked when he tries the knob, and before Dick can even think of breaking it open, arms are wrapping around him and dragging him backwards, and Dick kicks and shouts and tries to remember all the fucking years of training with Talia.

Fat load of good they do him though, because Wilson manages to wrestle him onto the sofa despite Dick’s struggles, and Wilson pushes Dick face-down into the leather until Dick can practically taste it on his tongue. Before Dick can try to kick free of Wilson’s hold, the man _sits_ on him, using his weight to hold Dick’s legs down, and Dick squirms and grunts with frustration.

Wilson’s grabbed his arms and pushed them up against his back, and he holds them there with one hand while his other hand grabs a fistful of Dick’s hair and holds his head down.

Dick’s trapped. He hates to admit it, but he _is_ , and he stops struggling before he can tire himself out for nothing. He cranes his neck against Wilson’s hold on his hair to glare up at the man instead.

“Get _off_ me,” he snarls.

Wilson smirks down at him. His hair is disheveled from their tussle, and thick strands of it are covering his right eye. Obscured, it makes him look exactly like he had with his eyepatch on eight years ago, when Dick had first met him, and it makes Dick’s vision distort, sends his mind reeling in confusion.

Suddenly, he’s thirteen again, scared and alone, and this man is sitting in front of him, promising to let him see his little brother if Dick would just _cooperate_.

Five simple words, that’s all he needs from Dick; _my father is a traitor_.

If Dick says that, he’ll get to see Damian again, he’ll get to go back home to Alfred and his home-made cookies, he’ll get to have his bed and his room and his life and he would never be alone or scared or so _cold all the time_ ever again.

Dick’s cheeks feel wet and he’s not sure if it’s real or a strong reminder from his memories _._

Faintly, he hears Wilson talking. “If you promise to behave, I promise to let you go,” he says.

(Promises, Wilson’s always making him promises, always asking _Dick_ to make promises he can’t keep.)

“Please,” Dick hears his own voice say without his permission. He doesn’t sound like himself. He sounds quiet, weak. He sounds like a kid again.

(Somewhere in the back of his mind, there’s another voice screaming with unadulterated fury, violently protesting at Dick to _fight_. But it’s a faint nagging more than anything else, and Dick’s not sure if it’s real either, if any of what’s happening is real or if it’s all just a really awful nightmare that he’s going to wake up from soon.)

“Good boy.”

The weight on his back eases off him, but the grip on his wrists is unrelenting. Dick finds himself being pulled up into a sitting position, his back facing Wilson, and he shudders as he feels Wilson’s heat against him, feels the scratchiness of Wilson’s beard dragging against the back of Dick’s neck. 

Wilson’s damp breaths tickle against his skin, and Dick squeezes his eyes shut and arches away from the feeling.

Wilson draws back to murmur into Dick’s ear, “Sensitive, are we?”

“Let me go,” Dick breathes. “You promised.”

Wilson hums thoughtfully, and Dick gasps when Wilson wraps an arm around Dick’s shoulder and cups his large hand under Dick’s jaw, tilting his head up until Dick’s forced to lean his head against Wilson’s shoulder behind him if he doesn’t want to choke.

“I never said _when_ I would,” Wilson points out.

Dick whimpers when Wilson ducks down to nose against the juncture between Dick’s neck and shoulder, swallowing nervously. 

“You’re a bastard,” he says, but it’s not as biting as he wishes it were, not with how much his voice trembles around his words. “A sick bastard.”

Wilson chuckles against Dick’s skin, and Dick shudders again as he hears the man inhale deeply.

“And you smell wonderful,” Wilson says. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve only imagined you under me since I saw you at the gala. You’re the spitting image of your father, has anyone ever told you that?”

Dick gasps when Wilson drags Dick up and backwards, until Dick’s sitting on his lap, and there’s something hard and solid digging against Dick’s ass. He has no doubt what it is, and Wilson’s insinuations terrify the fuck out of him.

“Perhaps a little prettier,” Wilson purrs into his ear. “Such a pity Wayne never got to see you grow up.”

Dick’s eyes sting at Wilson’s words, terror and indignation warring in his chest. He wants to tell the man to shut up, to stop talking about his father like Wilson has any right to even _mention_ his name, but then Wilson’s rolling his hips up, nudging that hardness under Dick insistently, and it makes Dick want to swallow his own tongue.

The hand under his jaw twitches before it moves down, fingers dragging over the buttons of Dick’s shirt and palming against his skin over the expensive cotton. Dick jerks back uselessly to pull away from the touch, but his efforts doesn’t discourage Wilson.

The fingers continue moving, digging into his shirt, and then they’re circling over one of Dick’s nipples and Dick jerks again out of reflex.

“Stop,” he groans, shaking his head. He tries to pull his hands out of Wilson’s hold, but Wilson is stronger than any corporate executive has any right to be.

“I don’t think I want to.”

Wilson stops toying with Dick’s nipple, but his hand moves lower instead. Dick’s breaths hitch when Wilson cups at Dick’s groin, and Dick draws his legs together instinctively. Wilson pulls away to rest his hand against Dick’s thigh instead, squeezing appreciatively.

“What are you doing at LexCorp, Richard?” Wilson asks.

“I work here,” Dick struggles to answer, shaking his head. “I just- I work here.“

“Do you now.” Wilson’s hand loosens, but he runs it along Dick’s inner thigh, and Dick hates how soothing it feels despite how much he doesn’t want it there. “And was that you yesterday? Snooping around in the basement?”

“I don’t know- what you’re talking about- _oh-_ ”

Dick’s whole body twitches when Wilson nips at the corner of Dick’s jaw, at the spot of sensitive skin there just under Dick’s ear. It sends a tingle of unwelcome pleasure trilling down Dick’s spine, and Dick feels his face heat up with shame.

Wilson chuckles lowly at his reaction, nosing against the skin there on purpose, and Dick squirms on Wilson’s lap helplessly, his breathing coming in short and fast as he feels his skin growing hotter under his clothes at Wilson’s ministrations.

“Are you sure?” Wilson asks, his hand still rubbing along Dick’s thigh. “Hmm. You’re pretty when you’re lying too. That’s something else you have in common with your father.”

Before Dick can fully register what Wilson had just said, Wilson throws him forward, and Dick crashes into the sofa on his side with a surprised cry. Immediately, Dick tries to run, but Wilson moves quickly, straddling him and grabbing the lapels of Dick’s blazer to push him down against the sofa.

At least Dick’s hands are freed, but Wilson’s brute strength surpasses his own as Dick claws at Wilson’s arms ineffectually. Wilson lets go of Dick’s blazer to run his hands under it instead, pawing at Dick’s sides. 

The warmth of his palms makes Dick unwittingly shiver, and Dick sucks in a breath, glaring up at the man. Wilson smirks down at him in response, grinding his hips down against Dick, and Dick winces as Wilson’s hard bulge digs into his hip.

“I can do this all day,” Wilson says with a breathy chuckle. “My office is soundproof too. You can scream all you want and no one will know.”

“I’ll report you,” Dick says, although Wilson’s threat _does_ set a newfound terror ablaze inside him. “I’ll go to the police.”

“Do you really think they’re going to help you once they find out you’re the son of the country’s most-hated traitor?”

“My father is innocent!”

Dick regrets his outburst before Wilson’s amused grin has even begun forming on his face.

“ _Is_?” he echoes, and his hands squeeze at Dick’s sides, his fingers digging brands through Dick’s clothes. “I knew you were down there. See, a little honesty is all I’ve been asking for.”

Dick reacts before he can think again. He’s not sure who’s more surprised at the punch he throws, but he’s sure it must be Wilson because Dick’s fist manages to land squarely on the bastard’s face. Wilson pulls back from him and Dick squeezes out from under Wilson, rolling out of the sofa and onto the carpeted floor.

He’s on his feet in a second, staggering over to the desk. He grabs the letter opener on it and whirls on his feet to face Wilson, who’s recovered from the punch and is standing in the middle of the room, eyeing Dick with a patronizing smile.

“Do you really think you can stop me with that?” he asks, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it over onto the sofa.

Dick watches him warily as he unbuttons his cuffs and rolls his sleeves up, and Dick’s eyes are drawn to the block letters tattooed on his left forearm, followed by a barcode and a string of numbers.

**KRYPTON**

**230912191514**

“Do you like it?” Wilson asks, gesturing at the tattoo. “Comes with military-grade physical enhancements. Luthor’s reward for the work I did for him."

 _Work I did for him_. 

Dick doesn’t fully comprehend what he means, not at first. He’s too on edge, too worked up over having Wilson’s hands all over him, Wilson’s body draped over his own. Of feeling trapped.

But then the words sink in, and slowly, Dick’s brain connects the dots that he hadn’t realized had been in front of him all along. All the little signs, the major clues; everything set up for him, this whole _goddamn_ time, and now it’s all so stupidly obvious that Dick almost wants to stab himself with the letter opener.

Bruce Wayne hadn’t been the traitor. _Slade Wilson_ is.

Wilson’s probably been working for Luthor even before this, even since- since Bruce had been investigating the Doomsday device. Wilson’s vehemence in trying to pin the blame on Bruce, in doing everything he could to get Bruce’s own children to testify against him; it all makes so much more sense now.

“Why?” Dick can’t help but ask. “Why would you-”

Vaguely, Dick realizes his hands are shaking, and he can’t- his throat is closing up. Something like _hatred_ is obstructing his breathing and Dick swallows painfully as he steadies his hand on the letter opener. He’s never felt so strongly about anything in his life before.

“You ruined my _fucking_ life,” he spits out. “My _brother’s._ You just- you _destroyed_ _everything,_ you fucking _bastard._ Do you have _any idea_ what it’s been like since he’s been gone? _Do you_?! Did you even fucking care when you _took him away from us_!”

Wilson’s eyes narrow at Dick, and to Dick’s horror, something _hungry_ flashes through them.

“There’s the Wayne fire I’ve missed so much,” he says, stretching his arms out by his sides before raising his fists in front of him. “Why don’t you _show_ me how much you hate me, Richard?”

 _I can just kill him,_ Dick thinks viciously, gripping the letter opener tighter. He has a clear shot, and even if Wilson were to dodge in time, Dick can get close enough to him and get his hands around his throat, twist it easily until it snaps and-

Dick wants to do it so badly. He’s never sincerely wished for anyone’s death before, and his hand twitches with the urge to throw the letter opener. Talia would be proud if he did. She’d congratulate him, gift him her sword and induct him as a formal member of the Order. She’d declare him worthy.

But his father wouldn’t approve. 

Dick knows Bruce would be upset if he’d found out- _when_ he finds out, and Dick doesn’t want the first thing Bruce to learn about his eldest son - after _eight years_ of separation - is that he’s a murderer. 

He can’t do that to him.

“I will,” Dick swears, glaring at Wilson. “In _prison_ where you fucking belong.”

Dick throws the letter opener into the air, aiming it at the ceiling. Wilson watches it with confusion, and Dick dives over the desk and lands a hard kick right in Wilson’s nuts at the same time the letter opener embeds itself into the smoke detector.

Several things happen at once, and even later, when everything’s over and he’s finally safe, back by Damian’s side, Dick’s not exactly sure in what sequence they’d really occurred.

As far as Dick can remember, things went on like this;

The fire alarm rings out, and water sprays from the hoses in the ceiling. Wilson drops to his knees, clutching at his family jewels, and Dick rolls to the side and rushes for the door, and it’s still locked but he’s ready for it this time. He breaks the knob and tears it open, and it’s _utter chaos_ outside.

People are shouting and running, some whining about the water from the sprinklers ruining their hair, their paperwork, their poor, precious laptops. No one notices Dick, and Dick runs over to the emergency stairs, where he breaks the glass on the fire alarm button there and slams his hand down on it just for good measure.

Then he throws himself inside the stairwell and practically flies down the stairs, fishing for his phone in his pocket at the same time. It’s waterproof, and it works just fine, and Dick dials his and Damian’s emergency line from memory.

“Wilson’s the mole,” he says breathlessly when Damian picks up. “He recognized me, he’s the one that framed dad and he just confirmed that dad’s in the basement! I was right, Dami, and I think I know why we haven’t found the schematics for the Doomsday device!”

To his credit, Damian understands what Dick’s babbling about in point five seconds. 

[ **I’ll take the alarms in the background as a sign that you’ve been compromised** ,] he says coolly, and Dick hears a female voice faintly asking Damian where he thinks he’s going and Damian responding with, _it’s a family emergency, woman, unhand me_. To the phone, he says, [ **I will be there in ten minutes** , **make sure you are at the extraction point**. **Preferably in one piece**.]

“I have to get them, Damian,” Dick pants. “If I don’t do it now, we might never get another chance again! Luthor will know we’re after him!”

Dick staggers to a stop when the door on the fifteenth floor stairwell slams open in front of him, and Todd rushes in, as soaked as Dick. They both stare at each other wide-eyed, neither quite sure how to react, and Dick feels a sudden, intense flash of déjà vu before he realizes that Damian is speaking into the phone.

[- **ot worth risking you too**!] Dick catches belatedly. [ **Grayson**? **_Grayson_** _,_ **are you listening**? **You dense** , **vexing** , **single** - **celled** **_Neanderthal_** _;_ ** _answer me right now_**!]

“I have to go, Dami,” Dick says, eyes still on Todd. “Just make sure you have room for four.”

[ **Richard** -!]

Dick hangs up, gestures at the stairs. “Um, after you?” is the best his brain can offer.

“What happened to you?” Todd asks instead of doing the polite thing and continuing on his way.

“The fire alarm went off,” Dick says, and he pushes his wet hair back a little self-consciously. “Didn’t you hear?”

Todd frowns, moving closer, and Dick almost flinches when Todd reaches out and touches the corner of Dick’s jaw.

“Last I checked, fire alarms don’t leave hickeys on people,” Todd says wryly.

Dick _does_ flinch then, jerking back and grabbing at the patch of skin Todd had touched gingerly. He’d forgotten about that, and shame flushes his face even though Dick hadn’t _wanted_ Wilson to put a hickey on his goddamn neck. When had that even happened anyway?

“John,” Todd says, frowning deeper, concern in his eyes. “What happened to you?”

Before Dick can make up an excuse, they hear a distant bang coming from upstairs, another door slamming open from another floor. Several heavy footsteps follow, and Dick can faintly hear Wilson’s voice shouting, _find him!_

“Fuck,” Dick says.

“ _Wilson,_ ” Todd says sourly, leaning over the railing to squint up at the upper floors.

The footsteps are getting louder, closer, and Dick considers his options for one second before he sighs and grabs Todd’s arm, pulling him away from the railing and back out the door Todd had come in from. Todd barely protests, but Dick holds him tight anyway to keep him from running. 

The fifteenth floor is deserted, looking like a hurricane had blown through it. Dick drags Todd over to the other end of the wing and into the service elevator’s hallway before he stops and faces the other man.

“Look, I know we’re not really all that close,” Dick starts, trying not to lose himself in Todd’s clear, teal gaze. “I’ve probably talked more with Tony from Finance than I have ever talked to you, but I _really_ need your help, Peter.”

Todd stares at him wide-eyed again. “ _Okay_?” he says. “John, what’s going on?”

“My name’s not John,” Dick says quickly. “I’m Richard Grayson and my father was- _is_ Bruce Wayne, and I came here to work for Luthor so that I could find evidence on a WMD Luthor has been developing called the Doomsday Device, to put him behind bars for it. My brother and I have been investigating every inch of LexCorp hoping it’ll somehow lead us to to it, but so far all we’ve had are dead ends.”

Todd’s still staring, and this time he’s not even blinking anymore. Dick takes it as a sign to continue.

“Instead of the Doomsday Device, I found our father,” Dick says, and his voice does that stupid trembly thing again which Dick hopes Todd doesn’t notice. “And our Uncle Clark. Luthor’s got them locked up down in B3, and my guess is that he caught them snooping around and he’s been holding them prisoner for the past eight years and Wilson just confirmed my theory about ten minutes ago.”

Dick grabs Todd’s hands, squeezing them for comfort, looking into Todd’s eyes pleadingly. “I need your help to get them out of there, Peter,” he says softly. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it on my own, and I’ve got to do it now or I might never get another chance after this. _Please._ I know it’s asking for a lot, but I need you to trust me and believe me when I say, you’re working for a madman who’s been selling government secrets to the enemy.”

Dick holds his breath when he’s done.

He’s not sure if he’s left out any important details, or if he doesn’t actually sound as crazy as he thinks, but he’s not sure how much time they have before Wilson finds them. Or before he locks down B3 and there’s no way for them to get to Bruce or Uncle Clark. 

He wishes he could’ve told Todd the truth under better circumstances, but even telling Todd at all is a risk and Dick- Dick hopes he hadn’t been wrong about the man. Or rather, he hopes he _had_ been wrong about Todd working with Luthor on Doomsday like he’d initially thought.

Todd’s silent though. And his expression has shuttered, replaced by an impassive mask of pure emotionlessness. Dick feels his own heart race at the sight, and he pulls back from Todd, trying - and likely failing - to hide his own wounded expression.

His actions seem to snap Todd out of whatever stupor he’d been in, and then Todd’s rushing forward, grabbing Dick’s hands in his own, and the look on his face is exasperated frustration.

“This isn’t how I wanted to tell you,” he says remorsefully. “But Peter Todd’s not my real name either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okeh, fess up, who else besides Dick didn't know Peter Todd was Jason the whole time? *insert surprised Pikachu face*
> 
> Also, remember when I tagged fast burning plot? Because this is how fast and it's just gonna keep getting faster. Some details have been omitted for ~~the climax~~ good reason, but honestly, some might've just been overlooked. #sorrynotsorry
> 
> I wanna ask if anyone can guess what Jason's angle in this fic is but I'd hate to disappoint if y'all have better ideas than what I actually did xD.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A good person in a bad situation; that's what some people are. That's what Bruce Wayne saw in Jason Peter Todd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: No warnings except that I re-wrote this chapter about a dozen times and I'm still kind of not completely satisfied with it but I have no idea what about it really bugs me :(. On the upside; JASON'S BACKSTORY, yay!

_“This isn’t how I wanted to tell you,” he says remorsefully. “But Peter Todd’s not my real name either.”_

* * *

Five Years Ago

When Jason had been six, one of his kindergarten teachers had asked him what he’d wanted to be when he grew up.

Jason had answered _a whaler,_ and when asked why, he’d said - with all the ingenuity of the blissfully ignorant - _because I get to ride on a boat and look for whales._

His teacher hadn’t understood how _cool_ that was, or why Jason had gotten angry when she’d tried to dissuade him of his dream, and that had been the start of Jason’s seventeen-year crusade against all forms of authority.

Because Jason Peter Todd _was_ going be a whaler if he damned well wanted to be, and if ten years down the line he would decide he wanted to be a bona fide super spy instead, then Jason Peter Todd was very well going to be a goddamn super spy.

And nothing anyone like his first-grade teacher said could ever convince him otherwise. 

It wasn’t ten years down the line, but two years short of it instead, when Jason changed his mind and decided that he was going to work with the Batman.

Even before Jason had started living on the streets, Jason had heard of him; everyone in Gotham had, at least once, even in passing, even people that had nothing to do with the dark underbelly of the city.

He’d gotten the nickname from the fact that he only operated in the dark of night, and you never heard him coming until it was too late. 

(That, and he’s usually dressed in a full-body, pitch black, bullet-proof suit with a bat-head mask hiding his face.

But no one mentions that anymore after an unfortunate mugger had made fun of it and had gotten dangled upside down from the highest-perching gargoyle on the clocktower for a whole day before anyone had even noticed he was missing.)

The Bat had just appeared out of thin air one day, not more than two years ago, a one-man army that had dismantled Roman Sionis’s cross-border drug smuggling operations in a little under a week, and no one quite dared to not take the Bat seriously after that. 

No one even knew what the man’s motives were, or even where his loyalties truly laid, but they all knew not to get on his bad side.

(No one knows if he even _has_ a good side, but that’s beside the point. The general consensus among the underground is simple; _don’t piss him off._ )

If Batman wanted information, you asked about what. If Batman wanted you to jump, you asked how high. And if Batman wanted you to stop smuggling weapons and drugs and printing counterfeit notes, you _stopped._ Period.

If you cooperated, you got to go to jail and serve out a fitting sentence for the illegal work that you do. If you didn’t, then you got to go to jail and serve out a fitting sentence for the illegal work that you do, _eating through a tube for the rest of your fucking life._

Jason had been thirteen - fresh out of drop-out and still green on the streets - when Selina had taken him under her wing. Some of the first things she’d taught him had been about _the Bat._

How to keep out of his way, how to stay out of business he’d claim as his. Batman rarely intervened with Outlaw business, but only because the Outlaws didn’t take _dirty_ work. At least, not most of them. The dirty ones, well; they often suffered the consequences of not cooperating with the Bat.

Selina’s horror stories of Batman’s notorious reputation were all intended to put the fear of God in Jason so that he wouldn’t do anything reckless lest the Bat might make him regret it - like as if Jason’s three and the Batman were the Bogeyman or something, _pfft._ But at the end of the day, all Jason really thought was that Batman sounded pretty badass.

After a while, Selina had started trusting Jason more, had started depending on him more often than not. Jason had proven himself more than capable of taking care of himself, and she’d liked that about him. That was when she’d start telling Jason _more_ about Batman.

Selina had apparently known him since even before the man had donned the mask. She’d been his informant, and occasionally, she’d help him out with his cases. Selina was perhaps one of the very few people who knew the Bat’s real identity, and although she wouldn’t say _who_ he was, Jason had been able to figure it out with what she _had_ already told him about the man.

(Before the Bat had become _the Bat,_ he’d been a high-ranking agent in the Justice League; the fancy-pants, government-funded organisation dedicated to thwarting threats against international security. 

Jason’s always thought they were pretty cool, or at least, Diana Prince is. The rest of them had always looked mostly lame - like the dude with the huge green ring and the weirdo that’s always wearing a hawk-eared cap.

Besides their numerous public appearances, Jason hadn’t paid much attention to them. There had been more important things in his life back then; like dodging his dad’s drunken hits and making sure his mom didn’t choke to death on her own vomit after she’d pass out.

But there’s only one man in the League who’d have the resources to operate like the Bat, only one man who’d died mysteriously after being publicly declared a traitor and a wanted fugitive, around almost the same time the Bat had first started appearing.

Jason knows _Bruce Wayne_ is Batman and it’s a sobering thought that even someone who had seemed to have it all could still end up in the same seedy world as the rest of them.)

At the time when Jason actually met the Bat, a year since Selina had taken him in, he’d been sent on low-profile Outlaw missions only. Most of them had involved couriering and reconnaissance, and passing messages that were too sensitive to be risked getting tapped into. Selina thought it was good practice for him, and he was good at it because he was _fast_ and small _._

One of those missions had been a message from Selina to the Bat, because she had a mission that took her to Coast City and the info Selina needed to pass to him was time-sensitive; she didn’t trust anyone else to send it for her either. Jason had barely been able to hide his excitement at the chance to meet Batman.

He was going to ask him if he wanted a partner.

(Jason had been a little kid with too big dreams - sometimes he still is - and working with the Bat had sounded like a genius plan at the time.

Jason kind of wants to laugh when he thinks back on it now.)

They were supposed to meet at an abandoned warehouse near Dixon Docks. It was supposed to be simple and fast, no complications. The Bat hated complications, Selina was always saying. Jason was supposed to pass the message to him and then leave.

But Jason had apparently been tailed, and Harvey Dent’s goons had ambushed them. They’d wanted the Bat, and Jason had always been too impulsive to keep his nose out of other people’s problems.

Jason saved Batman’s life that night, and almost lost his own in the process. 

It hadn’t been planned, and it hadn’t been a _clean_ save by all means, but Jason had taken a bullet for him - or several, depending on who you asked and on which day - and when Jason had passed out, he’d woken up hours later in what looked like a room built into a cave.

There was an old man there tending to Jason’s wounds, and another man that Jason didn’t recognize, but from his build and his voice, Jason knew it had to be Batman. 

The two of them were vehemently arguing about something, but Jason wasn’t able to hold onto consciousness for long enough to know what the argument was about.

It took several days, but Jason was finally able to stay awake for longer than a few minutes as his wounds healed, and Bruce Wayne came to see him.

“You shouldn’t have risked yourself like that,” was the first thing he said to Jason.

Jason, never one to be intimidated by any authoritative figure, simply smirked smugly. “What, no thank you? I saved your life, didn’t I?”

“You’re just a kid, you shouldn’t have been out there. I told Selina the streets aren’t any place for children.”

“Your ungrateful ass would be dead right now if this _kid_ hadn’t been there to save it.”

Bruce scowled at him, looking disturbed and angry, and Jason yawned, stretching his arms over his head to bring attention to the bandages that were wrapped around his torso. Bruce’s eyes were drawn to them, and Jason saw his opportunity in the guilt reflected in the man’s gaze.

“I get shot at anyway no matter how old I am,” Jason said. “Let’s partner up, then you can make sure I don’t die while it happens. How about it?”

Bruce looked so scandalized at his suggestion that Jason wasn’t able to stop the laughter that crackled out of him, despite how it made his wounds hurt. 

Bruce left him alone after that, at least for a few days.

Jason had been playing around with the tablet Alfred - that was the old man’s name, how _classic_ was that? - had left for him, when Bruce approached him again. He didn’t say anything immediately, simply sat by the bed and waited as Jason finished the code he’d been half-heartedly typing out of lack of anything else to do.

“So what’s the verdict, doc?” Jason asked when he finally grew bored of the coding and Bruce’s silent brooding.

“You were an honour student in your high school where you were skipped two grades,” Bruce said slowly, every word deliberated like he’d been practising this speech all morning. “4.35 GPA, advanced placement in four subjects, first speaker on the debate team. Then you were expelled for causing the death of a fellow student. You were charged with involuntary manslaughter, aggravated use of a weapon and unlawful possession of a firearm, then sentenced to juvie on account of your age. You escaped from custody a week before processing could start.”

Bruce paused, watching Jason carefully, seeming to allow time for the things he’d said to settle into them both, but Jason- Jason’s stopped breathing before Bruce had even stopped speaking, gaping at the man. 

He’d never even told _Selina_ that much about himself and she had never asked. That was the rule when you lived like they did. You didn’t ask, and no one would ask you back. 

Back at the orphanage, Jason was used to people knowing, to people hearing his name and looking at him _differently_ because they recognized it from the papers. He’d learnt to keep his name to himself since then, keep personal details to a minimum unless it would mess with a job.

Jason didn’t think _the Bat_ of all people would ever find out, would ever _know_ or _care_ -

But Bruce wasn’t done. 

He continued talking again, in that same level, calm tone, “The gun was in your locker with your handprints all over it. The police thought it was a straightforward case, and maybe it would have been if you hadn’t lied about whose gun it was.”

Jason could feel his heart thudding loudly in his chest, and his mouth went dry as he stared blankly at Bruce. Bruce’s eyes were clear and placid on Jason, and the lack of judgment in them was _confusing_ -

“Roy Harper had illegally obtained a gun to protect himself against his abusive father,” Bruce said. “He brought the gun to school so his father wouldn’t find it. He showed it to you, but another student saw it too. He took the gun and threatened to go to the principal with it and the three of you were involved in a short scuffle that ended that boy’s life. To protect Harper, you took the gun and wiped his prints from it. You planted it in your own locker and made sure there would be no doubt who had used it.

“You sacrificed your future for your best friend and you’ve spent the past year under Selina Kyle’s wing, intending to officially join the Outlaws when you come of age. You’re stubborn, impulsive and inexperienced, but you make up for all that with your tenacity and unflinching loyalty. Even now, you look out for Harper and you’ve made sure his father hasn’t touched a single hair on his head ever again.

“You’re a good person, Jason Peter Todd, in a bad situation. Tell me why you would want to work with a known criminal like me?”

Bruce - _finally_ \- stopped talking then, and leaned back, watching Jason expectantly, and Jason still couldn’t find his voice to _say_ anything, to deny any of it. He wasn’t- Jason had never been the type to look back, _ever._ He held grudges, sure, but he’d never _regretted_ anything he ever did before.

He stood by his decisions, always, even if they somehow ended up with him sitting in a weirdo, know-it-all’s bed healing from multiple gunshot wounds, in a weirdo cave with a weirdo butler named _Alfred_ who baked the best muffins Jason had ever tasted in his life _._

And despite what his history looked like at first glance, despite the story he’d fabricated himself to help the boy he’d always thought of as his own brother, despite how _everyone else_ had always turned their nose up at him whenever they learnt his real name- despite it all, here was Bruce fucking Wayne, giving Jason a chance to explain himself.

None of Jason’s teachers had even been that surprised when Jason had confessed to owning the gun, like as if they’d _expected_ it of him, like as if just because he was a charity case from the Narrows - a little poor orphan boy from the Boys’ Home - then it was bound to happen sooner or later.

Bruce’s careful, considering question was more than any adult had ever offered Jason in the face of his shitpile of a life, and Jason wasn’t quite sure what was the right response to it.

 _Gratitude,_ the voice that was usually his conscience whispered in the back of his mind, and Jason’s little demon sneered back, _disbelief._ Jason told them both to shut the fuck up and deeply considered the situation again.

After what felt like an eternity, Jason managed to crack a grin, and Bruce raised a brow at the sight of it.

“Guess you found my MySpace profile, huh?” Jason said wryly. “Gee, and here all I know about you is that you’re a filthy rich bastard with a hobby of fucking bad guys up. Thought I’d wait til our third date before we shared anything else.”

Surprisingly, Bruce smiled at Jason’s sarcasm. “Don’t sell yourself short, kid,” he said. “That’s really all there is to me.”

Jason squinted at him suspiciously. “I thought you were saying no about the partnership offer,” he said. “Why are you trying to make me feel better?”

Bruce shook his head, his smile widening. “I’m saying no to the partnership because I work alone,” he said, and Jason snorted derisively. Bruce waved a hand to stop him from saying anything else, adding, “But I _am_ looking to expand my operations.”

It was Jason’s turn to raise a brow at him. “I’m listening,” he said cautiously.

“I’m only one man, but corruption in this country is a nationwide issue steeped in our history,” Bruce said, sounding grim then. “The Justice League was the cleanest organisation I ever worked with, but that changed in recent years.”

Jason winced at the mention of the league, understanding the dark way Bruce said their name, like it was poison instead of the agency of good it was supposed to be.

“I need more clean agents in the field, Jason,” Bruce continued. “Agents I can trust, in places where we can make a difference.”

Jason’s heart thumped again as Bruce looked at him, _really_ looked at Jason. It felt like the man’s eyes were stabbing right into his soul, and Jason couldn’t help but gulp nervously, his back straightening and his hands clenching at the ready.

“Stay with the Outlaws,” Bruce said. “Work through their ranks, clean out the dirty players from the inside. They started out good too, and there’s still hope for them yet.”

Jason was surprised at the request. He’d expected something else, something more dangerous, maybe. He hadn’t expected to be given the Batman’s _blessings_ to join the Outlaws.

“What about you then?” Jason asked, frowning.

“I’ll be backing you, of course,” Bruce said, shrugging. “I’m sure Selina would appreciate having one less mouth to feed out of her own pocket, and like you said; I’m a _filthy rich bastard._ I’m sure I could afford it.”

Jason grinned at Bruce, utterly unapologetic, and it wasn’t a surprise anymore when Bruce smiled back. Then the smile fell, and his expression became grim again.

“I still have Justice League business to deal with,” he said. “But when I’m done with that, we can revisit the topic of you working for me.”

“ _With_ you, asshole. I don’t take orders from anyone.”

“That’s what Selina told me, but you stopped trying to get the IV out when Alfred gave you a talking to.”

“... He makes phenomenal pudding.”

“That he does.”

“He’s the real threat, isn’t he?”

“I’m convinced he’s not human on most days. I’ve yet to find evidence to prove otherwise.”

“An alien butler. I like the sound of that. Any chance I could get one of those for myself?”

“I’m not sure where Alfred found me either.”

“ _No,_ something Bruce Wayne _doesn’t_ know? Preposterous.”

“I didn’t stop digging at your high school years, Jason. If you wanted to talk about how you and Selina met-”

“ _And_ I’m stopping you right there. No. Just- _no_. We don’t talk about that. _Ever._ ”

“Are you sure? It sounded fun.”

“You wouldn’t know fun if it bit you in the ass, Bruce. But that’s okay, I’m a pretty good teacher. We’ll loosen that ass enough to pull the stick out of it. Outlaw’s honour.”

\---

A year passed in the blink of an eye.

Jason kept up his end of the deal with Bruce, and in return, Bruce fed him money, resources and information.

In less than a year, Jason had managed to impress the higher echelons of the Outlaws enough to be nominated into their ranks, and in the span of another, he’d put half of them behind bars. The rest were idealists; founding members of the Outlaws that hadn’t been swayed from their original intentions by the promise of money, and they’d welcomed Jason’s changes with open arms.

Jason hated them. They were cowards that couldn’t be bothered to get their own hands dirty even though they were perfectly aware of the sick things the corrupt members had been doing for decades; preying on the weak, stealing from the poor, to name a few. 

The only reason Jason left them alone was because they were useful in keeping the Outlaws united, and as long as they allowed Jason total control over what their agents did and _didn’t_ do, Jason was content.

He thought he was doing a pretty good job of everything, for a mere sixteen-year-old.

And then the Bat _disappeared_ and Jason very nearly tore Gotham in half searching for him.

They’d grown closer since that night in the cave. Jason had never wanted a father, and Selina was enough of a mother hen to him that Jason was utterly convinced having parents was way more hyped up than it deserved to be, but something about the way Bruce treated him made Jason feel- _loved_. 

Wanted. Cared for. 

Jason knew Selina cared about him, in her own twisted, thieving, Outlaw way; but it was different from the attention that Bruce gave to him. Bruce treated Jason like a _son_ , or like what Jason thought a son _should_ be treated like, and it had felt _nice._

Over the two years that they had been in contact, Bruce had told Jason about bits and pieces of himself, about his life before he’d come to be known as Batman. They were always fractured pieces, nothing in chronological order, or related to each other even, not in one go. 

But Jason had kept every piece of information and filed them away in a special place in his heart, treasuring them like collectibles. They meant nothing to anyone besides Bruce, but to Jason, they meant _trust._ Bruce trusted parts of himself to Jason every time he shared something, and Jason had felt good about that.

When Bruce disappeared without a trace, without so much as a goodbye note, Jason was once more reminded of what it felt like to lose family.

* * *

It takes nearly another two years of grueling research, of sifting through Bruce’s encrypted files and narrowing down the list of - _extremely_ long - suspects that might be behind the man’s disappearance, before Jason determines that Lex Luthor is the likeliest culprit.

By then, he’s been joined by Roy and Roy’s ex-girlfriend, Kory.

(Jason hadn’t wanted to let Roy get involved with the Outlaws, not when Roy had had a better chance of a normal life than Jason ever did. But Roy had been adamant, and if there’s anyone more stubborn than Jason, it’s the redhead.

Well, _two_ redheads, if you count Kory.

Kory had been a pleasant surprise; a friendly, warm lady with a fiery temper that scares even Jason shitless. And even though she possesses a… _unique_ speech pattern, she’d been a bright light in the cloud of gloom that had been Jason’s life since Bruce had gone missing. 

Jason had wanted better for them, for _both_ of them, but he’d also known that he wouldn’t be able to find Bruce on his own. And so he’d let them in.

And if Kory and Roy were willing to mess around with him sometimes, well. That’s just a bonus.)

The three of them - armed with fake identities and meticulously-detailed backgrounds - join LexCorp’s headquarters in Metropolis.

It’s surprisingly easy to blend in with the corporate world, especially for Jason, who manages to snag the vacant IT Director position after his predecessor ‘retires early’, just three months since they’d joined LexCorp.

(Roy still gives him shit for that, but what’s new.)

They manage to ingratiate themselves to the company enough to get higher than standard clearance - mostly thanks to their fake credentials and _a lot_ of ass-kissing - and they’ve got access to every inch of the building by the end of their sixth month there.

Still, they don’t actually have any idea what they’re looking for, so even half a year in, it doesn’t look like they’re getting anywhere. Bruce’s info hadn’t been the easiest to decipher, and even now, Jason still can’t crack his security on the computer back in his cave. 

It’s a miracle they’d even had enough to figure out Luthor’s somehow involved in a complicated plot to overthrow the government which Bruce had been investigating - and that’s only if they’re right about that. They’re working blind, and it’s dangerous and risky if they get caught, but Jason takes comfort in the knowledge that at least they _are_ working.

In their seventh month, a wrench gets thrown into their plans when Slade fucking Wilson shows up.

Jason knows Wilson through the Outlaws, but he also knows him because Bruce had _hated_ the bastard with a passion. Wilson’s the kind of asshole that only does things that benefits himself, without any regard to the consequences of his actions.

He’s hired Outlaw agents in the past to help infiltrate foreign military camps, to supply arms, to courier ‘sensitive packages’ to unsavoury people in high positions, and Jason’s never trusted him, but the bastard pays well. _And_ he keeps his mouth shut.

While neither of them get along with each other, they’re both professionals. So when Jason meets him in a board meeting one day, and their eyes meet and Wilson recognizes him, Jason doesn’t pull his gun out on the man then and there.

Instead, they meet afterwards, just the two of them, at the smoking area on the thirty-seventh floor roof.

“I didn’t realize the Outlaws were so pressed for cash,” Wilson snarks once Jason’s made sure the access door is locked and it’s only the two of them.

“I’m on a case,” Jason snaps, glaring at him. “Rules are easy here. You stay out of my way, I stay out of yours.”

“That will only work if we both know which way we’re going, Todd.”

“Age before beauty, old man.”

Jason’s surprised when Wilson doesn’t hesitate to elaborate, flatly explaining, “I’m running Luthor’s foreign transactions. That’s all I’m at liberty to tell you, but unless you’re looking to bring down LexCorp’s foreign market values, I’m sure we won’t have to cross paths often.”

There’s more to Wilson’s presence here than that, Jason’s sure of it, but Jason figures he can dig up more on that later. For now - as much as he dislikes the bastard, it’s just bad business to burn bridges he might have to cross in the future.

“Luthor stole something and I’m getting it back,” he says. “It’s not Outlaw business so I don’t want anything connecting us to each other. I’m warning you now, I won’t be playing nice with you.”

Wilson smiles sharply in response. “I don’t think that will be a problem at all.”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

Jason leaves the roof first, and takes the emergency stairwell just to work off the aggression built up from being in Wilson’s presence. Half of him wishes Wilson had given him a reason to fight, just so he could’ve had the satisfaction of punching him in his smug face.

[ **You okay** , **Jaybird**? **Heart’s beating up a storm** ,] he hears Roy ask quietly into his comm.

“Nothing a good fuck won’t fix,” Jason replies under his breath. “You got all that, right?”

[ **Already on it** , **boss**.]

Jason rolls his eyes at the title; Roy’s been calling him that for the past four months now, and it still makes his skin crawl uncomfortably.

“Fuck off,” he mutters, only to receive an amused chuckle in response.

He’s taking a step down onto the twenty-seventh floor’s landing when the door there slams open, and someone comes rushing in.

It’s a man, and his face looks so fucking familiar that Jason freezes as their eyes meet.

Electric blue irises, set above a strong nose, defined cheekbones and long, thick eyelashes that would make Kory squeal with delight. Even his hair, though slightly longer and wavier, is the same shade as Bruce’s, and it’s been years since Jason had last seen the Bat, but he’s positively fucking _sure_ that this guy is the spitting image of him.

Jason’s brain makes the connection a split second after the guy had stepped into the stairwell, but by then, Bruce Wayne’s son is already bidding a hasty apology and dashing down to the floor below. 

Jason just about manages to catch a glimpse of his - _safe thoughts, Jason, safe fucking thoughts, you’re on the job_ \- ass before he disappears and all Jason can do is make a weak, surprised sound that echoes pathetically in the empty space.

[ **Jaybird**? **What’re you doing** , **running a fucking marathon**?]

[ **Is something the matter** , **Jason**?]

“I don’t- _fuck_. Someone find out what happened to B’s kids. _Now_.”

\---

“Last known location is Tibet,” Roy is saying around a mouthful of pizza, several hours later back at their safehouse. “Wayne’s ex-wife owns property there. She got custody after he ghosted.”

“I know _that,_ ” Jason says through gritted teeth. 

He’s doing pushups from the couch, next to where Roy is curled up with his laptop. He’s still feeling worked up from the events of today, though he’s not sure if it’s because of his encounter with Wilson, or Bruce’s kid. 

“Where’d they go to school? How old are they now? What’s the most recent photo you can find of them?”

Kory walks in, hair still wet from her shower, and squeezes onto the couch between them, taking Roy’s laptop from him despite the man’s protests.

“Personal tutors, twenty-one and sixteen respectively, no social media presence whatsoever,” she says smoothly, typing away. “We have possible matches from satellite surveillance but it seems Talia al Ghul has carefully kept them out of the public’s eye.”

“ _Public_ _eye,_ ” Roy corrects her. “She sounds more paranoid than you, Jay.”

“She must have reason to be.” Jason drops onto the floor and rolls over, keeping his legs on the sofa. “What about the JL’s database? I know they’re still keeping tabs on B’s kids.”

“I am working it now. There are progress reports on their growth, the most recent being- three years ago.”

Jason sits up, pulling himself onto the sofa to lean over Kory’s shoulder and get a look at the screen. It’s mostly full of bullshit, the report, but it has grainy photos at least, taken from angles that tell Jason Bruce’s kids hadn’t known they were being observed.

None of them are up close or even of full view of them, but they’re enough to confirm that the man Jason had seen today is definitely Bruce’s eldest son; Richard Wayne. He looks much younger, with shorter hair, but otherwise, he hasn’t changed much in recent years.

“Shit,” Jason mutters.

“So it’s really him?” Roy asks with a sigh. “What’s he doing in Metropolis?”

“Why was he at LexCorp?” Kory adds.

Jason shakes his head, flopping back against the couch as he thinks. “I got an email yesterday about a new hire,” he says, frowning. “John Tate. Pull up his profile.”

Kory obliges, her fingers moving quickly over the keyboard. She’s searching through LexCorp’s database this time, so it doesn’t take long for them to get a hit. The profile that comes up says he’s a fresh grad from Coast City, majoring in programming with a minor in electrical engineering.

There’s not much else besides his achievements in college, and then there’s a photo too, and _yep._ It’s the same man in the stairwell, staring back at Jason from the laptop.

“I believe I saw him in HR today,” Kory says. “This is Richard?”

“Wait, so Wayne’s kid is _working_ for Luthor?” Roy looks at them both with disbelief. “How fucked up is that?”

“We don’t know for sure yet if Bruce’s disappearance is Luthor’s fault at all,” Jason reasons, a little grudgingly. “More importantly, Wayne Enterprises is still active. Why did he apply for a job at LexCorp as _John Tate_ when he could just go to his own company to work?”

“Perhaps he is infiltrating LexCorp to obtain corporate secrets,” Kory suggests. “It may not have anything to do with his father.”

“That would make more sense if he’d ever been to Wayne Enterprises since Bruce’s funeral,” Jason argues. “Lucius Fox is still CEO and there haven’t been any announcements about either of Bruce’s kids following in his footsteps.”

“So what do we do, boss?” Roy asks. “Kid might be in danger if Luthor’s the reason Wayne’s gone.”

Jason doesn’t answer immediately. It’s a good question. What _do_ they do?

On the one hand, they know next to nothing about Richard. All Jason really knows about him is that Bruce loves the kid, that Bruce had been willing to fake his own death to keep his two sons away from the world he’d lived in, the world that had turned on him at the drop of a pin, and it had been a decision that had haunted Bruce ever since.

(Jason’s heard Bruce screaming their names in his nightmares, and it’s not the kind of sound Jason had ever wanted to hear from a father. From _anyone._ )

They could tell Richard who they are, what they’ve been doing, but it would be undoing all of Bruce’s efforts all these years to keep his family safe. Not to mention, they don’t even know how Richard will react to being told that his father had faked his own death. Any sane person would be pissed about such an awful lie.

On the other hand…

Roy’s right. If Luthor really had a hand in Bruce’s disappearance, and he figures out John Tate is actually Richard Wayne, then Richard might meet the same fate as his father. Keeping him oblivious might be putting him in even more danger.

Why had Richard applied for a job at LexCorp with a fake identity anyway? It could be for corporate espionage, like Kory had suggested, but Jason just doesn’t buy that. He remembers Bruce once mentioning that his eldest son had wanted to be a cop, hadn’t had any interest in the family business at all.

He might’ve changed his mind over the years, but there’s no record of him ever even stepping foot on Wayne Enterprises’ grounds since he’d gone to live with his stepmother. So why would he attempt something so drastic when the company’s not even in any financial trouble?

None of it makes sense. They don’t have enough intel to understand how to factor Richard into their operation, or even if they should factor him in at all.

Jason hates not knowing things.

“We track and observe,” he finally says, looking at Roy. “He’s joining IT, so I’ll put him with your team, Roy. Keep an eye on him, watch what he does, who he talks to, what he talks about. Make friends and try to find out why he joined LexCorp.”

Then he turns to Kory and says, “You’ll be surveillance, as usual. Try to tap his cell if you get the chance, but don’t push and definitely don’t bug his apartment. If his appearance turns out to be harmless, I don’t want anything to tie us back to him. But if it looks like he’s compromised in _any way,_ assist and find me immediately.”

Jason glances between the two of them and lets out a long, tired exhale. “Whatever happens, we don’t tell him about Bruce,” he says seriously. “Once we’ve figured out why he’s here, _then_ we decide what we do next.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Roy says, taking another bite of pizza.

“What about Wilson, then? What’s his deal with Luthor?”

“According to our intel, he was relieved of his position with the Justice League seven years ago.”

“ _Relieved_?”

“Yes. Their database is barren of further details on the matter. This appears rather smelling of the fish.”

“You mean _fishy,_ Kory.”

“That is what I said.”

“No, you said-”

“Don’t, Roy. What about the FBI’s database?”

“There is nothing from the FBI. However, the NSA seems to have an active file on him. There have been grounds to suspect Wilson was involved in the Arkham Incident that had resulted in Bruce Wayne’s arrest.”

“That makes sense. He was working on the case with B but he was never officially investigated. NSA must have suspected a cover up.”

“The stolen chemicals were never found and Wayne faked his death before they could interrogate him. You’re not thinking what I’m thinking, are you, Jay?”

“Hmm. Bruce never talked about it, but it would explain why he’s always hated Wilson’s guts. And now Wilson’s here, working for Luthor? It’s not a coincidence.”

“Wilson is the connection between Bruce Wayne and Lex Luthor?”

“I’m sure of it. The real question is, what’s Wilson doing for Luthor?”

\---

Two Months Later

“No _fucking_ way.”

“I can’t believe he got in.”

“We must warn him of the algorithm.”

“No, no. We can’t let him know he’s being watched.”

“We cannot simply sit and watch him fail?”

“Wait. The bug in the data caches! Jay!”

“The-? _Right_ , fuck, set him on it! Keep him distracted until the program re-rolls. Use my name if you have to. ”

“Thank fuck you’re actually the boss.”

\---

“He is persistent.”

“He’s going to get himself killed at this rate.”

“Luthor knows his name now. We can’t let them meet, he’ll recognize him if he doesn’t already.”

“I have taken the liberty to delete his photo from his file. I do not believe Luthor knows his face yet.”

“You’re a genius, Kory. Now we just gotta keep them away from each other.”

“You think it’s about time we _tell_ him? He’s getting reckless, Jay, and we still don’t know what he’s looking for.”

“... I’ll test the waters. He’s smart not to trust anyone. Still no luck with his phone, Kory?”

“Sometimes it seems as though he does not have one.”

“Then we’ll have to try something else. Send him to my office after lunch.”

“ _Oooh-_ ”

“Shut _up._ ”

\---

[ **Why didn’t you kiss him in the car**?]

“For fuck’s sake, Roy-”

[ **I am confused as well**. **Was your increased heart rate not because you find him heated**?]

[ ** _Hot_** _,_ **Kory** , **we talked about this**. **Heated means angry or intense**.]

[ **I find him to be very intense as well**.]

[ **It’s still not the same** -]

“Shut up, _both_ of you. The important thing is that I planted your raspberry on him. Get snooping before I dock your pays, alright?”

[ **Our Outlaw pay or our LexCorp pay**? **Because Tony from Finance** **_loves_ ** **me and ain’t no way in hell he’ll let you get away with that**.]

“ _I swear to god, Roy-_ ”

[ **The remote access bot is active**.]

“ _Good._ Is it picking up on anything?”

[... **I believe we may know why Richard is at LexCorp now**.]

\---

“Give him B3. He might find something we missed.”

“Seriously? Don’t you think it’s too dangerous?”

“We either help him or he does something stupid we don’t know about and everyone’s fucked. What do you think we _should_ do, Roy?”

“Jason may have a point. Richard seems to know more about Luthor’s schemes than we do.”

“He has access to B’s data. He _does_ know more than we do. And besides… it’s _his_ dad. We should let him do it.”

“... Fine. But I still think we should _tell_ him. All this sneaking around is making me feel bad for the guy.”

“You just like him because he actually laughs at your jokes. You’re both idiots.”

“Puns are funny!”

“They also lower the IQ of everyone in the vicinity-”

“That’s not what you were saying in the car with him.”

“-and I have to go ‘return his jacket’ anyway.”

“The raspberry has deactivated under the sink in the kitchen; you will pick up its frequency when you are close. Are you sure you do not want to continue home surveillance?”

“We have what we need. Leaving it there any longer is just… creepy.”

“Also tempting. _So,_ so tempting, huh.”

“Give it a rest, Roy.”

…

[ **When did you get so fucking lame**?]

“Shut up, Roy.”

[ **He was** **_waiting_ ** **for it** , **I could tell**.]

“Why are you _still_ talking?”

[ **Seriously** , **the tension** **between you** \- **_ow_** _-_ ]

[ **I believe what Roy** **_meant_ ** **to say is that you were quite the gentleman** , **Jason**.]

“Thank you.”

[ **But he is right**. **I believe Richard wanted you to kiss him**.]

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, not _you_ too.”

[ **We mean well** , **Jason**. **Perhaps** … **Once we have found Bruce Wayne** , **you should consider pursuing relations with him**.]

“... I don’t think it’s a good idea, Kory.”

[ **Why not**? **He has made you laugh** **and you smile more often now**. **You enjoyed yourself when you spoke with him in the car**. **I think you two could be happy together** , **Jason**.]

“It’s not that simple, Kory. I’m an Outlaw. With the work we do- you know we don’t get happy endings.”

[ **I did not know that was in our contract**.]

“Hah. Nobody does, it’s in the fine print.”

[... **Whatever you choose** , **Jason** , **I only wish the best for you**.]

“Thanks, Kory. I- you’re the best, babe.”

[ **As are you** , **my friend**. **As are you**.]

\---

“Jay, Wilson’s got him.”

[ **Where did they go**?]

“His office.”

[ **Shit**. **My meeting ends in ten** , **I’ll head there ASAP**.]

“You better book it, Jason. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized Jason's like Catlad in this except not really. And to clarify, the Justice League is like another National Security Agency (NSA) in this 'verse, and the Outlaws are like them except that they're a privately-owned organisation and don't necessarily use legal methods to get the job done. Pretend it makes sense 😂.
> 
> Also, I'm going on a roadtrip and won't have stable internet connection for the next two days, so two updates in one go, woohoo!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head as Jason and Dick try to rescue Luthor's captives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Some minor violence and a cliff hanger :Oc

“... and that’s when the alarms went off and I headed straight for the emergency stairs.”

Todd looks nervous as he finishes his story, looking at Dick with a sort of anxious anticipation on his face. Dick’s not sure how to respond. 

He’s not even sure he’d heard all that right. In fact, he’s not even sure if he’s not dreaming right now, and-

“Ow!”

Todd’s expression becomes indignant as he rubs at his arm where Dick had pinched him. _Hard._

“Why did you-?”

“I had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”

“You’re supposed to pinch _yourself_!”

“Didn’t want it to hurt.” _Any more than it already does_.

Dick shakes his head, rubbing at his face as he turns away from Todd. He can feel a migraine coming on as the adrenaline from earlier wears off.

This can’t be real. Everything Todd’s said, everything that Dick’s discovered in recent weeks- _how is this his life right now._

“Richard-”

Dick pulls away when Todd touches his shoulder, lowering his hands to glare at the other man. “I prefer _Dick,_ but between the two of us, I’m pretty sure that’s _you_ right now,” he hisses.

Todd has the grace to look ashamed, but he doesn’t stay where he is. He moves closer and grabs Dick’s shoulders, holding him still when Dick tries to shrug him off.

“Dick, listen to me,” he says seriously, leaning close to force Dick to look into his eyes. His _stupidly_ pretty eyes. “I’m sorry I lied to you, but it wasn’t my story to tell.”

“So why did you?” Dick glares at him harder, hoping it can make Todd physically _feel_ the pain of betrayal that’s blooming in Dick’s chest. _He’d trusted him._ “Why did you tell me? Why didn’t you just keep lying to my fucking face?”

Todd grimaces, guilty and apologetic all at once. “Because if what you’re saying is true, then Bruce needs all the help he can get,” he says. “And you can yell at me and hate me all you want for the rest of our fucking lives, but right now, we have to work together if we’re going to save your dad.”

He’s right. _God_ , Dick hates that he’s fucking right. Dick wants so much to punch his face and kick him right in the nuts, make him eat his own words for making Dick- for making Dick think he _knew_ him when all he’d really known was a facade.

But he’s right.

“I have a plan,” Dick grits out. “You better be as good at your real job as you are at acting, _Todd._ ”

\---

They hijack the controls of a service elevator and manage to get it down to B2.

It doesn’t go further down than that, but the shaft _does_ and so they make the rest of the way down by climbing, but not before locking the elevator in place to minimize access for anyone else.

There’s no door in the shaft to B3, but there’s a vent that Dick remembers runs through to the control room. They shimmy through it until they’re above the room, and Dick sees several men in lab coats running around frantically inside. The alarms are blaring again.

It’s hard to hear over the noise, but Dick can make out enough words to understand why they’re panicking; something is failing. It doesn’t sound good.

Dick meets Todd’s eyes in the darkness of the vent, and sees the same thing reflected in them. Silently, Todd nods at him, and then Todd slams his elbow against the vent grill and swings down through the newly formed hole, landing on his feet gracefully.

His entrance shocks the labcoats enough that they freeze in place, and Dick watches - with grudging admiration - as Todd knocks out all eight of them in less than ten seconds.

Dick jumps down once Todd’s done, ignoring his proffered hand to help, and makes his way over to the monitors.

The three rooms all appear to be empty, and there’s a distinct lack of fog in them now. But what’s really different is that one of the cylinders is open, and there’s a familiar man standing inside it, propped up by metal claws with several wires attached to his limbs.

 _Dad_.

The realization mutes all noise around him, as Dick stares at the sight of his father.

It’s been eight years, but he still looks the same. He doesn’t look a day older than what Dick remembers and it- something in his chest _breaks_ and reforms again at the sight, and then Dick’s running towards the door, desperate to see him up close.

But he’s stopped by a hand grabbing onto his wrist, and Dick snarls and pulls against it, turning to pounce on Todd. Todd’s mouth is moving, but Dick can’t hear anything besides the roaring pulse of his racing heart, and he struggles harder against Todd’s hands.

“Let go of me!” he yells, and even his own voice is a distant, muffled sound.

And then he finds his back slamming against a wall, and his head jerks backwards and bangs against it harshly. He’s stunned, but the impact brings all the noise back to his ears, and Dick blinks rapidly as Todd’s face looms over his own.

“Wilson is out there!” Todd shouts at him over the blaring of the alarms. “You take one step out that door and he’ll shoot you dead, do you understand?! I’m not letting you die on my watch, Dick!”

He looks panicked and angry, but mostly, Dick sees worry etched into the lines of his face. Under the flashing red lights, it makes him look completely surreal, and Dick almost misses what he’s just said, too distracted by his appearance.

But Todd seems to understand, because he holds Dick still and doesn’t say anything else, just watches him silently and waits.

Dick breathes in shakily, and forces his heart to calm, forces his thoughts to focus. Talia had trained him better than this. He should _be_ better than this. He’s not a kid anymore, and he shouldn’t be ruled by his emotions.

(He shouldn’t want to desperately run to his father right now to hug him tight and never let go, and expect that to happen without a fight despite the situation they’re in.)

“I’m good,” he says, reaching up to grab Todd’s arms, using their solid forms to ground himself. “I’m calm.”

Todd squeezes his shoulders once before he lets go slowly, taking a step back from Dick. He doesn’t get far because Dick’s still clinging onto him, but he doesn’t seem to mind either.

“Harper is on his way,” Todd says, not quite shouting, but loud enough so that Dick can hear him over the alarms. “We need to keep our heads and stick to the plan, Dick. One wrong move and we’ll end up in those rooms too, _if_ we somehow don’t die first. Can you do that?”

Dick forces himself to nod, to loosen his hold on Todd’s arms. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’ll- I’ll get into the system.”

Todd stares at him for a moment, and Dick’s not sure he believes him, but then Todd’s pulling him close and wrapping his arms around him and Dick lets out a tiny little sound that’s not quite a squeak but not quite anything else.

“We’ll get him back, Dick,” Todd whispers into his ear before letting him go. “I swear.”

Todd leads him over to the table on the other side of the room, and pushes Dick into the chair there.

“There’s five men in the hall with Wilson,” Todd says as Dick - a little dazedly - accesses the laptop on the table. “I can take them, so you just focus on shutting down those capsules.”

Dick nods, not trusting himself to speak, and focuses on bypassing the security to the operational controls for the floor instead. It should be easy, he’s done it before as a test run, not even a week ago, but somehow, he can’t- his mind keeps throwing him back to the sight of his father, hanging limp and motionless from wires pumping god knows what into him.

His _dead_ father, who is in fact, _alive_ and breathing; but for how long? Dick _needs_ to get him out of there, out of here.

Vaguely, Dick is aware that Todd is moving around in the room, grabbing things and piling them on the floor in front of the table. He seems agitated, and from what Todd had told him- Dick knows Bruce means a lot to Todd too. Maybe as much as he means to Dick and Damian.

The thought helps Dick to focus more, comforted by the fact that he’s at least not alone here.

“I’m in,” he announces after a few minutes, standing from the chair to look down at Todd.

Todd’s putting together the stuff he’s gathered into- into a _weapon_ of some sort. It looks vaguely like a harpoon gun, but made up of what seems to be a pipe, several wires, a conductor and- where the hell had he gotten a funnel from?

“Good, Harper’s in position,” Todd says, standing up. “When I open that door, you turn the lights off and start the sprinklers.”

Dick eyes him warily, asking, “What’re you going to do?”

With a grin, Todd brandishes his makeshift weapon like it’s the most dangerous thing in the world right now, and says, “Go fishing.”

Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a metal rod. He clicks something on it and the thing unfolds itself into a collar, which he puts on deftly with one hand before clicking it again. 

Dick watches, a little astonished, when it unfolds further, gleaming, red plates crawling up Todd’s neck until his whole head is covered in a helmet. The helmet’s face is completely devoid of any features, but Dick can tell Todd is grinning at him behind it.

“Nanotech,” Todd explains before Dick can ask. His voice sounds distorted, altered by what Dick assumes is a built-in modulator. “Your dad designed it.”

 _Oh_.

Todd moves over to the door, grabbing the handle with one hand while his other grips his weapon firmly. When it looks like he’s about to open the door, Dick rushes over to him, shouting, “Wait, wait!”

Todd tenses, turning towards him, and Dick- Dick thinks _to hell with this_ , and grabs his face and pulls it close and kisses the part of the helmet where Todd’s lips should be. It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but Dick feels breathless when he finally pulls away.

“For good luck,” Dick says.

Todd’s modulator produces a static-riddled sound, like he’s choking on air, and Dick smiles and backs away, moving back to the laptop. Todd seems frozen for a moment before he collects himself, and then he’s grabbing the door handle again.

Dick doesn’t wait until it’s pulled open completely before he pushes down on ‘enter’, and then the alarms cut off and they’re bathed in complete darkness.

\---

Jackson knows they should’ve worn their night-vision goggles when the boss had called them in. All their training and all their experience, and they should know by now to _always be prepared._

But Marco had insisted they hurried, rather than waste _three_ minutes to stop by the lockers and get the goggles, so _of course_ when the lights are cut in the hallway, they’re all blind as fucking bats.

“Fuck!” Reid shouts.

“Stand your ground, fools!” boss growls. “The backup generator will kick in soon, don’t let them intimidate you.”

Jackson raises his gun and aims it in front of himself blindly, but then the _sprinklers_ come on and it’s a chore to even keep his eyes open at all. 

“Oh, this is just _great,_ ” he hears Hayden mutter, followed by a ‘thwap’ sound and a loud grunt of surprise.

“Who was that?” Jackson demands, whirling in the direction of the sound.

“It’s me! Hold your fire!” Olsen replies, sounding disgruntled. “What the fuck, what is this-?”

There’s another ‘thwap’ and Jackson yelps when something slams into his legs at high speed, not so much out of pain but surprise. When he bends down to feel it, he’s confused to find that it’s a tangle of wires. He hears more ‘thwapping’ and more sounds from the rest of the team, and then-

“You know what I hate about fishing?” a robotic voice resounds from down the hall.

“ _Todd_ ,” Jackson hears the boss snarling.

“The _waiting_ ,” the robot continues. “I mean, why bother with a reel when you could just get them all at once, right?”

“This was not part of our agreement.”

“On the contrary, Wilson. You’re in the way of my payload.”

Jackson has no fucking idea what the fuck is going on, but he’d been paid to shoot people, so shoot he does. He aims in the direction of the voice and pulls the trigger, and that gets the rest of the team following suit.

In the light from the flashes of their shots, Jackson can see a figure dressed in a grey and white suit, dodging their bullets left and right, and Jackson curses when he runs out, but the bastard is _still_ moving.

Soon, none of them have any bullets left, and the robotic voice laughs gleefully at them. Jackson draws his baton and his knife instead, crouching low at the ready.

“Is that seriously all?” the voice taunts. “Man, what a waste of money, Wilson.”

“Show us what you’ve got then, coward!” Olsen yells from Jackson’s right.

“Oh, right,” the voice says, nonchalant. “It’s _my_ turn.”

And Jackson feels a foreboding shiver run down his spine before the hall is lit up brightly with crackling electricity. In the brief moment before his whole world is engulfed in mind-numbing pain, he can clearly see their attacker, see the menacing gleam of a ruby-red iron mask, and has just enough functioning brain cells left to think, _it’s the fucking Red Hood,_ and know that they hadn’t stood a _chance._

And then he blacks out.

(They really should’ve gotten the goggles.)

\---

In hindsight, Jason really should’ve pulled his gloves on before setting off the charge through the wires.

He’d completely forgotten though, but he’s luckily saved from injury by the rubber soles of his shoes and his suit underneath his- well, his suit. Still, his hands sting from the tingle of the electricity in the water, and he drops his improvised electrical discharger to tear off his shirt and jacket and pull on his gloves.

“Wilson’s down,” he says as he struggles a little more with taking off his slacks. They’re wet from the sprinklers and clinging to his leather pants underneath. “I’m heading for the payload now, but I don’t know if Dick’s done yet. How’re the bombs going?”

[ **Ready and set** ,] Roy replies, but he sounds a little breathless and Jason frowns as he finally manages to tear off his slacks and tosses them to the side.

“You got trouble?” he demands.

[ **Nothing I couldn’t handle** ,] Roy says dismissively. [ **But Luthor’s on his way**. **Kory’s got his tracker three blocks from the building**. **ETA five minutes**.]

“Fuck.”

[ **Yeah**. **On the upside** , **Dick’s little brother is here and ready**. **He’s also a scary little shit** , **by the way**.]

Jason hears the faint sound of Damian’s voice, yelling insults at Roy in the background, and smiles briefly. “Yeah, we’ve met,” he says. “Alright, keep the kid safe. If shit hits the fan, you guys book it without us. We’ll find our own way out.”

[ **Roger that**. **See ya on the flipside** , **Jaybird**.]

Jason makes his way over the trail of unconscious bodies in the hall - purposely giving Wilson’s limp leg a hard kick in the side - and to the first door there. It’s unlocked, no doubt thanks to Dick, and Jason finds a blue capsule inside.

[ **It’s Uncle Clark** ,] Dick’s voice says through the speakers in the room, and Jason jumps a little, not expecting it. [ **Sorry**. **I’ve shut down the machines**. **According to Luthor’s notes** , **he should be ‘mildly incapacitated’ for up to five minutes after ‘extraction’**. **I’m still working on the other rooms** , **but you can leave him by the door**. **I’ll come help him when I’m done with the others**.]

Jason gives a thumbs up at one of the cameras in there, and moves closer to the closed capsule. There’s a control panel next to the capsule, and Jason hazards a guess and slams a palm down on the one green button there.

It works; the capsule hisses loudly as a portion of its front releases and pushes forward, the thick metal groaning as it slides aside to reveal the man standing behind it. His eyes are closed and his expression is relaxed. Under any other circumstances, Jason would think the man is simply asleep, but standing up instead of lying down.

Jason pulls out the needles and wires without preamble, and it takes more effort to unfold the metal claws that are holding onto the man’s shoulders and shins. Jason manages though, and when the last of the claws and wires are off, the man’s body lurches forward without anything to support it.

Jason catches him, but staggers under the dead weight, and it’s more of a struggle to drag the man over to the door. Jason leans him up against the wall and makes sure that he’s still breathing and not about to fall over before Jason continues on to the next room.

The second room’s capsule is grey, and knowing what to do this time, Jason opens it up and pulls out the man inside it faster than he had with ‘Uncle Clark’. Jason almost, _almost_ falters when he sees the occupant’s face though; it’s _Alfred._

Fury pulses through him like a destructive wave before he manages to rein in his emotions, but Jason still swears silently to _kill_ Luthor dead. How _dare_ the bastard do this to Alfred? _Alfred_?

It’s bad enough he’d taken Bruce, but Alfred is _hallowed ground._ _No one_ touches Alfred and gets away with it.

Jason rests Alfred on the ground gentler than he had with Clark, and he touches his forehead briefly, murmuring, “You’re safe now, old man.”

He would rather stay by Alfred’s side and make sure he’s really okay, but Jason had told Dick to keep his head on straight and Jason’s not about to become a hypocrite now. So he takes his own goddamn advice and swallows down his feelings before making his way to Bruce’s room.

He can’t deny that his heart starts racing when he nears the black capsule though.

It’s been- it’s been _five_ years since Jason had last seen the man, and he’s spent those five years constantly looking for him. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to find, and he’s not even sure if he _should_ expect anything, but he can’t help feeling nervous now.

What had Luthor been doing to him in this goddamn capsule all this time and how has it changed him? 

Jason knows that no matter what happens, he’ll still be there with Bruce every step of the way. Whatever he finds in that capsule, it’ll be the Bat and Jason’s mentor and Dick’s father, and if Bruce has changed to the point that he’s no longer any of those three, well. Jason would rather have a fucked up Bruce in his life than no Bruce at all.

That’s the resolve Jason finds as he slams down on the final green button, and he swallows nervously as the capsule slides open to reveal-

 _Nothing_.

It’s empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did that and I'm not even sorry *is shot*.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone knows that for every question that's answered, three more always pop up. Some people have to learn that the hard way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Abduction, electrical torture (is that a thing?), explosions, somewhat graphic descriptions of human experimentation gone wrong. Also angst. I think that's it? Let me know if you see anything that should be warned about too. 
> 
> Anyways, THANKS AGAIN TO EVERYONE THAT COMMENTED ON THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER!! You're all so amazing, and I hope this chapter makes you hate me. ;3c

“No,” Jason says. “ _No, no,_ fuck! This isn’t-!”

Jason punches the control panel with a frustrated growl, shaking it when _nothing happens._ The capsule is still vacant, and Jason kicks at it with as much strength as he can muster.

“You’re supposed to _be_ here!” he yells at nothing. “You’re supposed to be in this fucking thing! I _swore_!”

He’d promised Dick they would get Bruce. He’d _promised._

What the hell is he supposed to say to him now? If Dick’s watching the monitors- he probably _knows,_ and Jason panics, hoping Dick hasn’t done anything impulsive.

[ **Jaybird** , **what happened**?] Roy asks urgently.

Jason doesn’t bother to respond, turning to run out of the room, but he’s stunned when something grabs him by the throat and he’s slammed up against the capsule.

It’s Clark, and his eyes are wide and manic, the look in them is so murderous that Jason _almost_ feels scared.

“WHERE IS HE?!” Clark roars, his fingers tight around Jason’s neck. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!”

If it weren’t for his helmet, Jason’s sure his trachea would be crushed under the force of Clark’s hand. As it is, it’s just extremely difficult to breathe, and Jason claws at the arm holding him in place, struggling to speak.

[ **Jason**! **What the** **_fuck_ ** **is going on**?!]

“I’m going to _kill_ you,” Clark snarls into Jason’s face. “I’m going to crush you right now if you don’t tell me where he is!”

Fuck. Jason can tell that he _means_ it. The helmet doesn’t make him _invulnerable,_ and, out of options, Jason does the only thing he can think of then; he jabs his fingers into Clark’s eyes.

Clark yowls with pain, letting go of him immediately to clutch at his face as he staggers backwards. Jason stumbles away from him, coughing and wheezing for air, valiantly trying to speak. 

“I’m the one that saved you, asshole!” he barely manages. “I don’t _know_ where Bruce is!”

He leans against the wall and keeps an eye on the other man, trying to catch his breath. Clark recovers quickly and turns towards him with a furious glare, and Jason’s surprised that there’s not a hint of injury on his face. Jason’s _sure_ he’d pushed against eyeballs earlier, but Clark looks perfectly fine if not crazed.

“Who are you?” he spits. “How do I know you’re telling the truth.”

“You don’t,” Jason growls right back. “But I’m your only chance at getting out of this hellhole alive, so back the fuck off.”

Clark sneers, but he doesn’t make any move to attack him anymore. Just in case, Jason keeps his distance from him, moving towards the door. 

“Come on,” he says, a little grudgingly. “He’s not here, and Luthor’s on his way. We need to regroup and figure out what to do next.”

“I’m not leaving without him,” Clark says, and Jason tenses as the man’s fists clench threateningly by his sides.

“Dick is out there,” Jason tries, and Clark goes slack-jawed with shock and recognition. “We need to get out of here or _all_ of us are going to end up in one of those things.”

“Where’s Dick?” Clark demands, rushing towards Jason. Jason tenses up but Clark doesn’t grab him, just seems finally willing to move. “Is he alright?”

“He was supposed to be with you before you woke up.” Which means he’s either in shock in the control room, or he’s gone off to do something _stupid,_ and Jason hopes to god that it’s the former. “I’m assuming Alfred’s still in the other room and you’re fucking strong for someone that’s been through some weird shit, so you grab him.”

Surprisingly, Clark doesn’t argue about it. They collect Alfred, still unconscious, and make their way back to the control room. It’s empty, just like Jason had feared, and Jason curses as he goes to the laptop to check the last thing Dick had accessed.

“Where’s Dick?” Clark asks, a little accusatory, and Jason ignores him completely.

[ **Jason** , **an update would be appreciated right about now**.]

“Little busy, Roy,” Jason snaps, a little more harsher than necessary, but he figures it’s justified considering he’s freaking the fuck out right now.

“Who are you talking to?”

[ **Yeah** , **but so are we**. **Kory just caught footage of Luthor leaving the building**. **His guys had** **_Dick_** _._ ]

Jason freezes. _No. No fucking way._ “Tell me you stopped them.”

[ **It was an** **_army_ ** **of TYGER personnel** , **Jay**.]

“Fuck!” Jason yells, slamming his hands down on the table. “Follow them!”

[ **What about** -]

“Set the bombs off! Leave one of the vans, we’ll rendezvous at the checkpoint! Just _go_!”

[ **Alright**.]

Jason slams the laptop shut and grabs it before heading back towards the door, barely sparing Clark a glance. “We’re leaving, come on.”

“What about Dick?” Clark demands, but he follows Jason anyway.

“Luthor took him,” Jason says through gritted teeth as he leads them down the other end of the hallway from the rooms. “We’re tailing them, but I need to make sure you two are safe before going after them.”

“I’m coming with you,” Clark says immediately. “You’re going to need help. Luthor’s dangerous.”

Jason doesn’t have the patience to explain to the man why that’s not a good idea; Clark’s an unknown factor, a wild card. He’d _strangled_ Jason. Jason’s not about to trust him to help on a mission, and especially not when the mission involves Dick’s safety.

But that’s all arguments for later. Right now, they still need to get the fuck out of the building.

“Whatever,” Jason says, stopping short of the end of the hallway and grabbing Clark before he can get too close to the dead end. “Cover your eyes.”

Clark looks at him with confusion, but he doesn’t get the chance to ask anything before the wall in front of them implodes. Jason’s spared from the dust and debris by his mask, but Clark’s not so lucky, coughing as he inhales the particles in the air.

When the dust settles, there’s a hole leading out onto a ramp from the parking garage, and Jason grabs Clark’s arm and leads him over the pile of decimated concrete. There’s an inconspicuous white van waiting for them, and Jason pulls the back doors open.

“Get in,” he says to Clark.

Clark hesitates then, like he’s about to protest, but there must be something in the tensed way Jason’s holding himself, because Clark seems to think better of it and climbs into the van, carefully laying Alfred out on the floor before he settles in himself. Jason slams the doors shut on them before moving towards the front.

He’s surprised for a split second that it’s Roy in the driver’s seat, but then he just feels anger. “I told you to follow-”

Roy raises a hand defensively, arguing, “I _tried,_ man. The little brat insisted on going so Kory took him with her instead. Kid’s got a complex or something.” He puts the van into gear and starts driving, casting a glance at Jason. Cautiously, he adds, “Not that I blame him. The fuck happened in there?”

Jason tries not to let the anger fester. He’s met Damian. He knows the kid’s protective of his older brother. He should’ve expected this, if not something worse, and he fucking hates that he knows he’s off his game right now because his feelings are all over the goddamn place.

He leans back against the seat and shuts his eyes, feeling a migraine coming on. 

“Bruce wasn’t in there,” he mutters. “I left Dick in the control room. I shouldn’t have left him alone, Roy. I fucked up.”

“You did what you had to,” Roy says, his tone disapproving. “We worked with what we had, and we thought we had him in there. It’s not your fault, Jay.”

Jason opens his eyes and stares ahead at the road, as they pull out of the garage and drive past the crowd of people gathered on the streets in front of LexCorp. There are a couple of fire trucks too, and a police cruiser. Nobody notices the white van peeling away, in the opposite direction of the building.

“I stopped him,” Jason confesses after a minute. “We saw him on the monitors and Dick wanted to go to him, but I _stopped him,_ Roy. If I hadn’t- what if we were too late because _I_ hesitated?”

“Then you would have _both_ been shot by Wilson and his guys,” Roy says immediately, in a tone that brook no argument. “We can’t change what happened, Jason. But we _are_ going to get him back. We’ll get them both back from Luthor, or we’ll die trying.”

Jason doesn’t want them to die. He’s already asked so much of Roy and Kory, he can’t- if anything were to happen to them because of _his_ obsession to find Bruce, Jason would never be able to forgive himself.

He closes his eyes again, leaning tiredly against the window. Briefly, he thinks about Dick’s kiss, about the look of utter faith in his eyes as he’d trusted Jason to get him- to bring Bruce back. 

Thinks about how Roy and Kory trust him to get them through this shit in one piece.

Thinks about how he always seems to be breaking that trust, over and over, always seems to fail every fucking person he’s ever loved or cared about.

(A long time ago, before he’d met Bruce, Jason had had parents that he’d loved, but who hadn’t loved him back. They’d died, one after the other.

Jason could’ve saved them. He knows he could’ve. He could’ve stopped his mother from indulging in her addiction, stopped his father from digging himself into an early grave by getting involved with Harvey fucking Dent.

He could’ve done so many things, at so many points in his life, to keep them alive, but he _hadn’t._

Jason’s not the type to regret his decisions, but he _does_ regret the decisions he never made when he had the chance. 

He won’t let this be another one of them.)

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, we will.”

\---

Dick’s been trapped in the lavish guest bedroom in the north wing of Luthor’s mansion for three hours, and he’s going out of his mind with worry.

No one’s spoken to him since Luthor’s servants had left him in here, and besides a maid coming in to present a tray of food for dinner, Dick hasn’t seen anyone else either.

It’s driving him nuts, not knowing what’s happening outside, what’s _going_ to happen, but the servants had been careful to remove any electronic devices or sharp objects that Dick could’ve used to escape. 

Not that Dick’s going to. No, he’s not going to leave until he finds his father, and Luthor had said on the phone that he’s _here._

* * *

Dick’s thoughts were racing a mile a minute when he discovered that the third capsule in the basement wasn’t even functioning as he tried to shut it down. It wasn’t even operating, which could only mean one thing; it wasn’t occupied.

Which was impossible. They’d _just_ seen Bruce in there not even ten minutes ago, how could it-?

Dick checked the footage on the monitors - saw Jason approaching the grey capsule, Wilson and his men still unconscious in the hallway - and belatedly realized that the feeds from the room with the black capsule weren’t even live. 

They were recordings, planted to play in an endless loop, to show them Bruce. To show them what they _wanted_ to see. _How hadn’t he noticed that before_?

 _So where the hell is he,_ Dick thinks, his hands fisting, his heart racing again as growing anxiety made it increasingly harder and harder to breathe. _Where’s dad_?

He jerked bodily when his phone vibrated in his pocket with an incoming call. He almost thought it was Damian, as he pulls it out to answer, but it was an unknown number instead.

And then Dick _knew._

He swallowed hard before he brought the phone up to his ear. “Luthor.”

[ **Richard Wayne**. **I have to admit** , **I didn’t actually think you would get this far**.]

Dick’s fingers tightened around his phone, gripping it so hard that he thought he might’ve cracked it a bit. Luthor sounded so fucking _smug._

“Where is he,” Dick demanded. “Where did you take him?”

Luthor chuckled lowly over the line. [ **Oh, daddy’s safe** , **don’t you worry your head about** ** _him_** _._ **In fact** , **he’s a lot safer than any of your little friends down there at the moment**.]

Dick glanced over at the monitors. Jason wasn’t in the grey capsule’s room anymore, but he wasn’t showing up on any of the other feeds. Clark wasn’t in his own room either. They must’ve entered the last room, must be discovering what Dick had just found out too-

[ **I’m willing to cut you a generous deal** , **Richie** ,] Luthor continued. [ **You come to me** , **willingly and with** ** _complete_** **cooperation** , **and I’ll get my men to leave your little band of merry marauders alone**. **I’ve got at least fifty TYGER officers two floors above you right now** , **waiting for my call**. **Just** **one call** , **and then** ** _boom_** ; **no more Mr Thigh-Guy**.]

Luthor chuckled again before letting out a quiet, pitying sigh, and added, [ ** _But_ ** **if you say yes to me** , **your friends get to walk away unharmed** , **_and_ ** **you’ll even get to see your daddy again**. **So what do you say** , **Richie**? **I think we both know what you’re going to choose** , **but I want to hear it from you anyway**.]

It wasn’t a choice, not even close. Even with Jason’s agents and Damian outside, _fifty_ armed, professional mercenaries weren’t anything to scoff at. 

Luthor had been planning this all along, he must’ve been. And Dick had been too stupid to see that he’d been two steps behind this whole while. This was a trap, and they’d walked right into it.

And it was all Dick’s fault.

Dick looked over at the vent grate he’d used to escape this same room, not three weeks ago. He was already walking towards it as he asks, “Where do you want me to go?”

* * *

Dick knows it’s stupid to trust Luthor’s word, but it had been that, or watch Luthor slaughter Jason and the others.

Luthor had had paid mercenaries at LexCorp, men that Dick knows wouldn’t hesitate to kill. He’d only wanted Dick to come with him, and what’s Dick’s safety worth against the lives of Jason, and Damian, and Uncle Clark-

Dick doesn’t regret what he’d done. Not even a little bit. But he _does_ hate that the situation’s completely out of his control at this point. He has no idea what Luthor wants from him.

He’s standing by the one window in the room, staring sullenly out in the direction of the city, when he hears the door’s lock beep and it swings open.

Dick turns to see _Wilson_ in the doorway, and Dick can feel the blood physically drain from his face.

“Richard,” Wilson says, smiling. He’s wearing his eyepatch again, but besides that, he doesn’t look any worse for wear despite Jason’s confrontation with him hours earlier.

Dick’s reaction is swifter than it’s ever been around this man; he immediately grabs a firm hold of the curtains framing the window and tears the bottom of it off, wrapping each end of the torn fabric around his knuckles and dropping into a defensive stance.

“Stay away from me,” he growls, glaring.

“I’m not here to fight,” Wilson says, and it pisses Dick off so much that he looks _amused_ at Dick’s reaction. “Although I do owe Todd for that little stunt you two pulled back at LexCorp. No, Luthor promised you your father. I’m here to be your tour guide.”

“No. I’m not going anywhere with _you_.”

Wilson shrugs. “Suit yourself. But it’s either me, or no daddy.”

Dick grips the cloth in his hands tighter, his jaw clenching painfully. Like hell he’s going to suffer Wilson’s presence _willingly,_ but- he wants to see his father. He _has_ to.

“What’s it going to be, Richard?”

Of course he goes.

But he refuses to let Wilson out of his sight, and so Wilson walks at least two feet in front of him as he leads Dick out of the room and down the hall, towards the grand staircase.

“If it makes you feel any better, Luthor wanted me to get answers from you,” Wilson says as they walk. “I wasn’t intending on actually doing anything to you. I prefer my partners to be… active participants, if you understand what I mean.”

It _doesn’t_ make Dick feel any better. “I don’t care. You’re still the bastard that tore my family apart.”

Wilson chuckles at his response, and Dick glares at the back of his head for it, willing it to combust.

“You Waynes can hold the worst grudges,” Wilson says, shaking his head. “Almost makes me regret taking your father down.”

Dick doesn’t bother to say anything to that. The rest of their journey is in silence, thankfully, as Wilson loses interest in trying to provoke a reaction out of Dick. He takes Dick down to the servants’ quarters in the kitchens, where there’s a hidden alcove with an elevator in it. Dick keeps to a corner of it the whole time, but Wilson doesn’t antagonize him and keeps his eyes facing forward the whole ride down.

When the elevator stops, the doors open to a large, expansive room with gleaming steel walls. It’s round and domed, with several medical equipment lining one side and a large, complex structure in the centre.

The structure looks like the intertwined roots of a tree, except instead of wood, the roots are made of thick, metal wires and they’re all attached to a human-sized pod on the ground that’s connected to more machines.

In the pod is Bruce Wayne, lying motionless with his eyes closed.

Dick forgets Wilson completely when he catches sight of Bruce, running past the man and towards his father. He drops to the ground by the pod, mostly because his knees feel weak all of a sudden, but also because it lets him touch Bruce’s arms, the only way he can get as close to Bruce as he can without actually lying over him.

His skin is paler than Dick remembers it ever being, but he’s warm and _alive._

“Dad,” Dick croaks out, his vision blurring as tears gather unbidden in his eyes.

Bruce looks- he looks like _Bruce._ He looks like he had on those monitors, like he had the last time Dick had seen him, so, _so_ long ago now. He hasn’t changed one bit and Dick swallows back sobs of relief as he grips Bruce’s arms tight, like Bruce is going to disappear if he lets go of him ever again.

“Don’t you just love family reunions?” Dick distantly hears someone say, someone besides Wilson.

Dick tenses and forces himself to let go of Bruce, moving to stand protectively in front of his unconscious father.

He’s never met Luthor before, but the man’s face is everywhere on tabloids, and Dick’s been doing nothing but research the man for the past seven years. He recognizes the bald head and the steely eyes and the tailored suit immediately, knows them like he knows the back of his own hand.

Luthor is standing by one of the terminals to the side, the one that’s spitting out readings on hormone production and cellular regeneration, and there’s a fake smile on his face as he watches Dick.

“Wait, no,” he says suddenly, raising a finger at Dick and affecting a thoughtful look. “No, let me guess. Are we at the part where you ask me what I’ve done to him? And you get me to launch off on a ridiculously lengthy monologue on my evil master plan to take over the world so you can buy enough time to cook up a dangerous yet strangely successful plan of escape?”

Dick doesn’t even get the chance to say anything, as Luthor answers his own question. “I’m pretty sure this _is_ that part, since you already passed the whole undercover infiltration stage, which, _bravo_ by the way. Totally flew right past my radar, you did. Good job on that. I wouldn’t have known anything if Slade hadn’t seen you at the gala.”

Dick glances over at Wilson, who’s leaning against another terminal with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. He shrugs when their eyes meet, and Dick looks away from him, feeling wary when he sees Luthor moving closer to them.

He stops several feet away, clasping his hands behind his back. “Oh but then, you _already_ know what my evil master plan is, don’t you, Richard?” he says, this time feigning surprise. “You’re a clever little thing. Too smart for your own good I hear, _just_ like your father. A sharp chip off the old block, as they say.”

Luthor rubs at his chin, still smiling that plastic smile, his eyes narrowing as he stares at Dick. “I’m not all that surprised you found my notes,” he says. “I wasn’t trying to hide them that hard. But you _deciphered_ them, put all the broken pieces together like a little jigsaw puzzle. See, Richie, that’s not something just _anyone_ can do. The only other busy little bee that got close was your dad.”

“I had help,” Dick says, finally finding his voice.

Luthor looks surprised that Dick’s actually said anything, but he smiles again. “And so humble too,” he says, chuckling. “You’re just so precious, Richie. _Precious._ It’s like Wayne made a copy of himself and just- _threw out_ all the bad traits, and _voilà._ ” He throws his hands out, pointing them at Dick, looking over at Wilson like he’s presenting Dick to him. “Little Richie Wayne,” he declares. “The perfect little specimen.”

“It’s not going to work,” Dick says.

Luthor looks back at him, his expression exaggeratedly confused. “What isn’t?” he asks.

Dick swallows the lump that’s forming in his throat as Luthor’s eyes darken on him, his overly arbitrary demeanour dissipating frighteningly quick. His whole mood changes so fast that it’s giving Dick emotional whiplash, and Dick remembers reading _signs of dementia_ in the notes from Luthor’s psych eval report from a few years ago.

“Krypton,” Dick forces out. “It’s not going to work. The cells- only Clark’s blood seems compatible enough to compensate for the rate of cellular decomposition but you still don’t know _why._ ” 

He points at Slade, ignoring how shaky his hand is, and says, “ _His_ body’s withstanding the assimilation but you and I both know he’ll suffer permanent brain damage in another eight, maybe six years. The formula isn’t _working,_ Luthor, not the way you wanted it to. You’re trying to sell _poison_ to China and the Middle East, and when they use that poison to form a _dying_ army of superhumans, you’ll sell it to the US too. You’re going to cause the deaths of _billions_ of people.”

Just the thought of it _scares_ Dick. When he’d figured it out, he’d been too busy getting away from Wilson and trying to find a way to free his father to really dwell on it. But now, here, facing the man behind the conception of a chemical designed to genetically modify the human body and turn it into a living weapon-

Krypton is ethically and morally _wrong,_ never mind that it _doesn’t work._ Dick’s seen the files on the failed subjects. He’s seen what happens to them afterwards. 

He hadn’t understood then, what the contents of those files had meant, what relevance they’d had to finding his father, not with the way Luthor had fractured his data. But now he _does_ and he knows why this thing is called _Doomsday._

(The weapon schematics Uncle Clark had stolen were a red herring, meant to put him and dad off of the real threat, off of the actual monstrosity Luthor has been creating all these years.

Doomsday isn’t _a_ weapon, but _the_ ultimate weapon. A magical, impossible serum to make anyone invincible. _In theory._

In reality, it’s a flawed, unstable treatment that kills its recipients _at best._ At worst, it turns them into mindless, deformed creatures that eventually tear themselves apart as their bodies break down, limb by agonizing limb.)

Dick feels sick when Luthor bursts out laughing, like Dick had just told him the world’s funniest joke. He’s _enjoying_ himself, bent over double with how amused he is.

When his laughter finally subsides, he’s wiping invisible tears from his eyes before settling a cold, hard stare at Dick. His whole expression has morphed into something like grim tranquility. _Emotional whiplash._

“See, that’s why you’re perfect, Richie,” he says in a reverent tone. “I’ve been spending half a decade, trying to extract your father’s knowledge, his natural know-how, if you will, on nanotechnology. He was the leading expert in the field, did you know? Before he tried to bite off more than he could chew. Before he said _exactly_ what you just told me.”

Dick yelps when a metal claw drops down from the ceiling, snapping its pincers at him, but he manages to dodge it, dropping onto the floor in a roll. It withdraws, but aims at him again, and Dick scrambles out of the way, jumping just out of its reach every time it snaps at him.

“You know what’s wrong with the formula,” he hears Luthor say as he keeps dodging the claw. “So do I. And _loathe_ as I am to admit it, I can’t put the solution to work, not without your dad’s help. But since I can’t get it from him unwillingly, well.”

The claw backs him closer to a wall, and Dick doesn’t realize it until it’s too late, until he’s got no room left to run. Dick stands still and waits until the last second before he jumps to the side, and the claw embeds itself into the wall, where it twitches uselessly; stuck.

Dick doesn’t have time to celebrate the victory though. Something stings his neck, and when he grabs at it, he pulls his hand away to find a dart. He curses, looking up to glare at Slade, but he’s already feeling the effects of the tranquilizer, his body weighing down as his eyes droop.

He sways in the spot, and staggers against the wall, where he sags down to the floor.

“Don’t fight it, Richie,” he hears Luthor’s voice echo distortedly as his vision darkens. “At least you’ll get to see daddy again.”

\---

Alfred’s still out of it when they reach the safehouse, so Jason and Clark tuck him into a bed before reconvening in the kitchenette with Roy.

Roy’s mapping out Luthor’s manor on the island counter, talking to Kory from his laptop.

[ **It appears we are greatly outnumbered** ,] she says

[ **I can take them all on if** **_you_ ** **wouldn’t stop getting in my way** ,] Damian snaps angrily.

They’re talking about the mercenaries Luthor’s hired. There are dozens of them patrolling the grounds, and they’re heavily armed. It’s not like it had been with Wilson back at LexCorp, which Jason realizes now had probably been a trap all along.

“Stand down, Damian,” he snaps as he looks over the map Roy’s marking. “This isn’t play time. These guys are TYGER, and they’re not going to think twice about shooting a kid dead.”

Damian scoffs, growling, [ **We would not be in this mess if** **_you_ ** **hadn’t allowed Grayson to be taken in the first place**.]

“You little-” Roy snarls protectively, but Jason stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I _know,_ ” Jason says to Damian, grim and serious. “It’s my fault we walked right into a trap. But blaming me won’t bring Dick or your dad back. So you either start listening, or you’re sitting out on this.”

Damian doesn’t say anything, and Jason takes that as a sign of acquiescence from the kid.

“Kory’s right,” he continues, looking at Clark and Roy. “We’re outnumbered. Running in there head on is suicidal so we’ve got to take the stealth route on this.”

“What do you suggest?” Clark asks.

For someone who had tried to kill Jason earlier, he’s surprisingly open to listening to him. He’s calmed down over the course of the ride to the safehouse, and if Jason doesn’t still have finger-shaped bruises on his neck that remind him of the maniac he’d seen back at LexCorp, he would’ve thought Clark looks incredibly approachable and earnest. He seems like a pretty stand-up guy in fact, and Jason maybe understands why Dick had told him Clark’s someone that means a lot to Bruce.

As it is, the memory’s still fresh on Jason’s mind, and it’s with a little wariness that he explains, “Luthor has his own dedicated sewer system that ultimately connects to the waste plant downtown. It can lead us into his compound undetected, as long as Kory can keep the motion sensors on the grounds offline.”

[ **I can have access in a click**.]

[ **That does not even make** **_sense_** _._ ]

“It’s perfect,” Jason’s cuts in before Kory can start explaining to Damian. “While you keep the systems occupied, Clark, Roy and I will access Luthor’s water tank and plant the sleeping gas. Once the staff’s out and the guards are down, Damian, _you_ scout out the upper floors and look for Dick there.”

[ **What about father**?]

“We’ll meet you in the kitchen when you’re done and find him next. Luthor’s power reading is segregated by floor, and the amount of power he’d need to maintain one of those capsules back at LexCorp don’t match the readings for the upper floors. There’s a basement there somewhere and that’s where we’ll find Bruce. Once we get him, we jack one of the TYGER vans and switch up downtown before we get back to the safehouse.”

“I think it’s a good plan,” Clark says when Jason is done. “How long will the gas keep them down?”

“Five hours, at least,” Roy says. “It’s potent.”

“Anyone have any other questions?” Jason asks, looking between the two of them. “Are we good with this?”

[ **I believe it has a reasonable rate of success**.]

[... **Tt**. **It is not the best** , **but it will suffice for now**.]

“I like it,” Roy says with a grin. “Not as crazy as your other schemes, but that’s supposed to be a good thing, right?”

Jason doesn’t have it in him to return the grin, but he nods, looking back down at the map. “Alright, everyone stay on the line and don’t do anything _stupid,_ ” he says, and that last part’s mostly directed at Damian. “We’ll see you guys in an hour.”

\---

Dick comes to slowly, his senses returning one by one. His skin feels weird, like it’s been stretched too tight over his bones, and Dick’s breath stutters when pain ignites along his arms.

“Hey, looks like sleeping beauty’s awake,” he hears Luthor say.

Dick makes a noise of protest when his face is grabbed and forced upwards in an uncomfortable angle. His sight hasn’t recovered completely, and he has to blink several times before the blurred smudge of a person clears enough for him to recognize Luthor.

“Wakey, wakey, Richie,” he says, grinning. 

Dick tries to tell him to fuck off, but his lips are still asleep so the words don’t quite come out right. Luthor lets go of Dick’s face, and his head slumps down jerkily, his chin dropping against his chest without support. 

He hears movement around him, and typing; loud, rapid click-click-clicking, and Dick shuts his eyes, trying to muster enough strength back into his body to _move._

It takes longer than he’d like for his arms to actually respond to his will, and Dick finds that he can’t move them because he’s restrained, somehow. They feel like they’re encased in something cold and dry, all the way up to his elbows, and they’re held up over his head. 

He must’ve been out for a while now, because he realizes that the pain in his arms is numbness fading to give way to prickling feeling.

When Dick tries to move his legs next, a mildly painful shock runs through his arms, spreading throughout his whole body, and Dick gasps, his muscles pulling taut under his skin as he convulses in place.

The clicking of keys stops and a deep baritone growls sharply, “Stop that.”

“Maybe if you worked _faster_ I wouldn’t have to entertain myself.”

“You pulled me out _two hours_ ago. I’m human, Luthor, not a robot.”

“Hmm. We could change that if you wanted.”

“Stop hurting him. Now.”

Dick breathes deeply when the electricity stops coursing through him, sagging against his restraints. It hadn’t been all that painful, but it had still hurt, and he tries to pull his mind through the pain and take in his surroundings. The typing’s started again, and he can hear footsteps pacing close by.

The upside to the shock is that his brain is fully awake now. And he’s _thinking._

He _knows_ that voice. He’s missed it.

Dick forces his head up, using all the strength he can muster, and sees- his _father, awake,_ sitting in front of one of the terminals in the underground room. His back is to him, but Dick _knows_ those shoulders.

“D-dad,” he bites out, wincing as his dry throat scratches with his efforts.

His father stops typing, and Dick’s eyes water when Bruce turns around to look at him.

Dick can’t breathe as he meets Bruce’s gaze. It’s- it’s better than he’d ever imagined, seeing those icy blue eyes again, open and full of life. Actually _looking back_ at him.

Dick sobs before he can stop himself, and Bruce scowls deeply.

“It’s going to be alright, son,” he says, his tone so gentle, it makes Dick ache to hug him. “You’re going to be alright.”

Dick wants to tell him that he doesn’t care; he wants his _dad_ to be alright, he doesn’t give a fuck about what happens to himself. But he can’t voice his thoughts into words, his chest constricting with too much emotion, and then Luthor’s there and grabbing a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back harshly.

“Aw, he’s _crying,_ ” he cooes at Dick.

Bruce’s glare is so venomous, Dick’s surprised Luthor isn’t bursting into flames where he stands.

“Don’t _touch_ him,” he warns.

Luthor looks between Dick and Bruce, smirking delightedly. “I’ll do a lot more than touch him if you don’t _hurry up._ ”

Dick spits at him, and a glob of saliva lands square in the middle of Luthor’s cheek. He can feel the man tense up at the feeling as the liquid dribbles down his face, and then Luthor turns slowly to look at Dick.

“Fuck you,” Dick says.

He’d expected to be shocked again, but he hadn’t expected Luthor to punch him. It knocks the wind right out of him, and Dick slumps sideways in his restraints as his face blooms with pain and something warm trickles down his nostrils.

“ _Luthor_!”

“ _He_ started it!”

“I told you to stay away from him!”

“ _Fine,_ ugh. Get back to work, Brucie.”

Dick struggles when something soft touches his aching nose, but a hand pushes against the back of his head and holds it in place.

“Shh, I’m just cleaning it up,” Luthor says irritably. “Daddy’ll throw a fit otherwise.”

Dick glares at him through his blurred vision, but allows Luthor to wipe the blood clean. Luthor studies his nose once he’s done, squinting at Dick.

“I have to set it,” he declares.

Before Dick can protest, he pinches the bridge of Dick’s nose and _shoves_ it back into position, and Dick yelps at the blinding pain, thrashing helplessly as Luthor lets go of him and backs up with his hands in the air.

“It’s fine, just a little sting,” he says to Bruce. 

“ _Asshole,_ ” Dick gasps out in response.

“Kids these days are so ungrateful.”

Dick glares at him, but Luthor just smiles smugly before skipping over to Bruce. “Well?” he says. “Chop chop, Brucie! Clock’s ticking.”

Bruce turns back to the keys, typing once again, and Dick clenches his jaw as he watches Luthor resting a hand over Bruce’s shoulder and leaning over it to take a closer look at whatever it is Bruce is working on. He has _no right_ to touch Bruce.

But since he’s distracted-

Dick looks up at his restraints, frowning when he has no idea what the fuck they are. They look like elongated eggs, made of glistening, silver titanium, and they look like they’d been poured and moulded around his arms, no gaps or signs of keyholes that Dick can see. They’re connected to a metal arch over Dick’s head, and when Dick looks down, his legs are similarly restrained.

The arch has a control panel at its side though, and from where Dick’s standing, he can make out enough of the words on the keys to hazard a guess that the eggs are electromagnets of some sort. Which means he just needs to shut them off and he’ll be free, if he can’t simply squeeze out of them.

He glances over at Luthor and sees that the man is still fully focused on Bruce, so Dick tries squirming out of the eggs as quietly as possible. It doesn’t seem to be working though; every time Dick thinks he’s made some progress, the eggs seem to _shift_ around him, moulding back against his skin and tightening firmly again.

He’s desperate enough to resort to dislocating his arm when he notices that the elevator on the other side of the room is moving. He can hear its approach from above, and then it dings loudly to signal its arrival.

Luthor doesn’t seem to be expecting anyone, because he withdraws from Bruce to frown at the elevator with annoyance.

Then the doors open and Dick breathes a huge sigh of relief.

“Richard!” Damian growls, glaring as he runs quickly towards Dick.

“How did you-?” Luthor starts, but he’s cut off by Jason at the forefront of the group, pointing a gun in Luthor’s face as he advances on the bald man. 

“You’re under fucking arrest, Luthor,” Jason growls.

Dick’s distracted from the satisfying scene when Damian shuts his restraints off and he drops onto the ground in a painful heap.

“Ow, _Dami,_ ” Dick protests, pushing himself up as the eggs turn into rubbery silicon and slip down from his arms and legs, onto the floor. “A little warning, please?”

“Shut up, Richard,” Damian snaps, but then he’s throwing himself against Dick, choking him in a tight hug. “Do _not_ do that ever again, you fool!”

Dick’s shocked at first, but smiles weakly and hugs him back. “Sorry, little D.”

“Next time, _you_ go to school and let _me_ handle the espionage.”

Dick laughs at his suggestion, but he doesn’t get to argue, his attention drifting back to the others as he looks at them over Damian’s shoulder. Jason’s still pointing his gun at Luthor, who’s looking equal parts pissed and confused with what’s happening, and Bruce seems to be glaring at- _Jason_? Why is he mad at Jason?

Dick pulls away from Damian, but keeps their hands clasped and leads him over to them.

“We don’t _kill,_ ” he hears Bruce growling.

“God, five years and that’s the first thing you wanna pick a fight with me about?” Jason says. He sounds as pissed as Bruce looks, his anger carried over just fine through his voice modulator.

“Since when did you start using guns?”

“Since _other_ people did. Not everyone has a full-body nanotech suit to scamper around in, you know.”

“Um, guys? Maybe we can do this later? When we’re not standing in the middle of the bad guy’s secret lair?”

“Shut up, Roy.”

“You shoot Luthor and you’re no better than him.”

“Uh, _what_? Seriously, _that’s_ your argument? Fuck, I forgot how fucking annoying you were.”

As everyone’s attention shifts to the argument going back and forth between Bruce and Jason, Luthor lunges towards Jason’s hand and wrestles the gun from out of it before scrambling away and pointing it at them.

“Don’t move!” he warns, looking at each of them with wide, manic eyes. “Unlike Bruce, I won’t sleep any less with your deaths on my conscience!”

Bruce looks over at Jason, shooting him a deadpan look, and Jason rolls his eyes. Neither he nor Roy look remotely bothered by Luthor’s threat, and Dick only understands why when Damian mutters, “They’re _rubber bullets,_ ” next to him, and then Luthor takes aim at Jason and pulls the trigger.

Jason catches the bullet in a gloved hand, but he drops it immediately and flaps his hand with a loud, “Ow, _shit,_ okay, that still _hurts_ like a motherfucker!”

“That’s what you get for trying to act cool,” Roy laughs next to him.

Luthor gapes at them with confusion before looking at the gun and back at them. Dick _almost_ feels bad for him, except, it’s _Luthor;_ he’s the bastard that had kept Bruce prisoner for _years,_ had been conducting awful human experiments with zero remorse, had _broken Dick’s fucking nose._

Dick lets go of Damian’s hand and strides over to Luthor, who’s too distracted still trying to make sense of what’s going on to notice his approach. Dick grabs his shoulder once he’s close enough, and turns the man around to face him.

“My name’s not _Richie,_ asshole,” he tells Luthor, pulling his fist back. “It’s _Dick._ ”

The crunch of Luthor’s nose under his knuckles is more satisfying than it should be, which should worry Dick, but he honestly doesn’t give a fuck as he watches Luthor fall flat onto his back on the ground, unconscious.

There’s a stunned silence around the room, broken only when Jason whistles long and low, confessing, “That was so hot.”

Dick spares him a smug smirk before he looks over at Roy. “Do you have any explosives on you?”

Roy quickly rummages through the pockets of his vest, pulling out three hand grenades and a single, unarmed proximity mine.

“Good enough,” Dick says, pointing over at the pod in the middle of the room. “We need to blow that out. Destroy the terminals too, all of Luthor’s research. We can’t leave _anything_ intact, it’s too much of a risk letting him keep any of it.”

Roy nods and moves to the pod, getting right to work.

“Where are Clark and Alfred?” Dick asks, looking between Damian and Jason.

“Clark was fighting Wilson upstairs when we came down,” Jason says, bending down next to Luthor’s prone form and turning him over. He pulls out a zip tie and cuffs Luthor’s hands behind his back. “Alfred’s still out, we left him at the safehouse with a note in case he wakes up.”

Dick breathes a sigh of relief at the news. He’s about to ask Jason how the three of them had even managed to get down here looking relatively unharmed when Damian grabs his hand and clutches it tightly.

Dick looks down at him to ask what’s wrong, but Damian’s not looking at him. He’s staring at something ahead, his eyes wider than Dick’s ever seen them. Dick realizes why when he looks over in the same direction Damian is staring at, and his own heart skips a beat.

Bruce.

_Right._

Bruce is standing there, not three feet away, staring right back at the two of them. His expression is blank, empty and clearly stunned, and Dick-

Dick practically drags Damian to him and throws his arms around both of them, clinging to them for dear life.

“Father,” Damian chokes out, his face buried against Bruce’s chest, his fingers digging into Dick’s waist. “ _Father._ ”

Dick laughs shakily, burrowing his own face into the crook of Bruce’s neck. “It’s him, Dami,” he says. “We found him. _We found you._ ”

Dick can tell Damian is crying, but he doesn’t make a sound, just holds onto them tighter. Dick understands completely; he’s feeling the same rush of emotions himself, the same confusing, overwhelming mixture of bewildered happiness and relief. He can’t believe- Bruce is _right here,_ in their arms, _not dead._

It’s been eight years, and Dick’s always known this day would come, but in his darkest moments, during the harshest of Talia’s trainings, even _he’s_ had doubts that they would ever find Bruce. Especially after- but now they have. _Finally._

They should really get moving and get the hell out of Luthor’s manor, but Dick just wants to stay like this forever-

“You shouldn’t have,” Bruce says.

Dick doesn’t really quite catch what he’d said, and pulls away. “What?” he asks, still smiling with relief.

Bruce looks at him, and he still- his expression is still that blank mask. And Dick realizes Bruce isn’t hugging _them_ back, and Dick’s smile slowly slips off his face.

“You should never have gotten involved in this,” Bruce clarifies, and now his brows are furrowing, looking between each of them sternly. “It was reckless and dangerous. Do you have any idea the kind of danger you’ve put yourselves in? Luthor had every intention of _torturing_ you, Dick. He would’ve _killed_ you if he’d had to.”

Dick can’t- he doesn’t understand what’s happening. Bruce sounds _angry._ He sounds annoyed, like the two of them are a thorn in his side. He doesn’t sound like their dad at all. 

What had happened to the man Dick had woken up to earlier? The man that had jumped to his defense against Luthor? Where had _that_ man gone?

He stares at Bruce, confused, letting go of him and Damian and taking a step away from them.

“ _What,_ ” Dick breathes. “What’re you- we just- we-?”

He can’t stand the coldness in Bruce’s eyes, the strictness that he doesn’t remember ever being there, and tears his gaze away to look at Damian instead. Damian’s staring up at Bruce too, as confused as Dick, and protectiveness surges through Dick at the sight. He grabs Damian’s arm and pulls him away from their- from the stranger wearing their father’s face.

“Richard?” Damian says, lost and, for once, sounding as young as his age.

Dick shakes his head, looking back at Bruce. “It’s okay,” he says, and he’s not sure if he’s trying to reassure Damian or himself. “It’s okay.”

“Bombs are set!”

Dick jumps at Roy’s announcement, gladly turning away from Bruce to look at the redhead. Roy approaches them with an excited grin, oblivious to the tension between the three Waynes.

“We’ve got five minutes, so let’s roll, people,” Roy adds, clasping Dick on the shoulder as he passes by him.

Jason had dragged Luthor over to the elevator, and Roy helps Jason carry him into it. 

“Let’s go, Dami,” Dick says, nudging Damian towards the elevator. He spares Bruce a brief glance, and feels his throat constrict when Bruce _still-_ still looks like a fucking stranger.

Damian looks back at Bruce too, but Dick wraps an arm over his shoulder and pulls him close, wondering _what the fuck do they do now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn’t clear;
> 
> Slade had recognized Dick from the gala, told Luthor about him, and so Luthor had started scheming ever since. Instead of confronting Dick outright, Luthor watched him go on a wild goose chase searching for Bruce ~~because he was bored~~ to see how far Dick would actually get. Meanwhile, Luthor’s already moved Bruce out weeks ago, just in case. The footage on the monitors was an old recording Luthor planted because he’s an asshole like that.
> 
> And because I cannot simply settle for one McGuffin per fanfic apparently, I will explain what those capsules are here to get that out of the way; they’re just ~~magical~~ machine things that can ‘download’ someone’s memories. Don’t look at me like that, DC’s done it enough times - Batman: Bad Blood, I’m lookin’ at you - so I’m not even gonna try justifying that one. *shrugs*
> 
> Anyway, Luthor’s been basically trying to steal Bruce’s brain while also pumping the three of them chockfuls of Krypton just to see if it’ll help because why the fuck not. #villainlogic
> 
> If there’s anything you think didn’t make sense so far, don’t worry; it’ll be explained later on. And in case it isn’t, then feel free to ask! Thanks again for reading, ILY 💙.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing about love is that it always hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, Dick being a dick (for good reason, I just always love saying that), Bruce being a dick (also for good reason) and poor Jason is the only sensible adult in the vicinity.
> 
> Also, if y'all read what I said about Luthor in the previous chapter, ignore it 😂. My brain did that thing where it made me do something without telling me about it until _after_ I did it. 🙊
> 
> And I'm sorry I made Bruce a dick, please don't hate him 😔. That said, thank you for all the comments in the last chapter! I love reading all your reactions but it also made me a little scared to reply now 😂. Have this update instead!

They drop Luthor and Wilson off in front of a police station with a hard drive full of evidence on Luthor’s money-laundering and weapons dealing activities before they head over to the waste plant and switch to their white van.

Jason drives and he’s confused when Dick insists on sitting in the front with him and Damian instead of with Bruce in the back.

But the look in both their eyes- Jason hadn’t liked it, so he hadn’t asked any questions. He waits instead, endures the awkward silence with them all the way back to the safehouse.

It’s even weirder when Bruce locks himself in the room they’d put Alfred in once they arrive, along with Clark, and Damian and Dick don’t even say anything about it.

Roy and Kory both shoot Jason questioning looks, but Jason can only shrug, completely in the dark himself. Everyone’s too tired to feel hungry, so Roy and Kory head straight to bed, and Jason shows Dick and Damian to a room they can share before he heads to his own.

Jason takes a quick shower and tries not to think too much on what had happened. He needs to write a post-mission report, even if this whole thing hasn’t been an official operation from the start, and experience had taught him that he writes more objectively a few days _after_ the end of an op. Anything earlier would be full of ‘fucks’, ‘shits’, ‘cocknobs’ and ‘motherfuckers’, which is just all sorts of confusing and unprofessional.

And besides; he feels guilty basking in a job well done when something had clearly gone wrong and had upset Damian and Dick.

By the time Jason’s lying on top of his sheets half an hour later, dressed in only a pair of comfortable sweats, his hair still damp from the shower; his mind is feeding him a hundred and one possibilities as to what’s put those haunted looks on the Wayne brothers’ faces.

It could’ve been _anything_ really, and Jason’s considering the chances of them just being really fucking hungry or something when there’s a knock on his door.

It’s quiet and hesitant, so Jason knows instantly that it’s neither Kory nor Roy. He rolls out of bed and slips on his jacket before going over to the door and pulling it open.

He’s only a little surprised to find Dick on the other side, and Dick looks almost as shocked as Jason feels. He looks comical, his eyes as wide as saucers as he stares at Jason, his nose looking odd and slightly swollen along the bridge. There’s a thin strip of medical tape on it, and Jason had seen blood stains on Dick’s shirt earlier but he hadn’t realized Dick had gotten injured since he hadn’t shown any signs of pain.

Jason’s about to ask about it when Dick’s gaze drops from Jason’s and down to the sliver of exposed skin between the lapels of Jason’s jacket, his lips parting to speak.

“I just-” Dick says, but stops, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have- I’m sorry, I’ll just- I’ll go-”

Jason grabs his arm before he can leave, saying in a rush, “No, wait!”

Dick freezes under his touch, looking back up into Jason’s eyes.

Jason lets go, cursing himself internally. “Sorry,” he says, grabbing the doorframe of the room instead and clutching it tightly. “Sorry, I mean- did you need help or something?”

To his shock, Dick tears up at his question, nodding jerkily. “I- yeah,” he says, sniffing. “Yeah, please…”

He wipes at his eyes, and then he reaches out in a jerky motion to curl his hands around Jason’s neck, tilting his head up and leaning in closer until their lips meet. Jason’s too shocked to react immediately, not expecting it, and Dick clumsily licks along Jason’s closed mouth, suckling at Jason’s bottom lip and pushing his body up against Jason’s.

Jason lets go of his hold on the doorframe and stumbles backwards, back into his room, his brain still trying to catch up to what’s going on, trying to register the fact that he’s _actually_ kissing Dick.

Dick keeps backing him up, until the backs of Jason’s knees hit the foot of his bed, and they fall onto it, Dick straddling Jason. It’s not until Dick reaches a hand down to cup at Jason’s groin that Jason finally snaps back to reality.

“Wait,” he gasps, breaking the kiss even though a part of him snarls angrily at denying himself this.

“Is something wrong?”

Dick sounds nervous, scared almost, and even in the darkness of the room, Jason can see the spit shining on his lips, the bright red blush colouring his cheeks. He looks so goddamn beautiful, even with the swelling around his nose, the glaring white of the tape across it; Jason thinks he must be fucking dreaming this up. But he’s _not_.

This is real. This is Dick, coming onto him, practically throwing himself at Jason, but Jason knows there’s something _wrong._

He doesn’t know everything about Dick; hell, he probably knows about a fraction of who he really is, despite the many months of stalking him and talking to him. But Jason knows enough about him that he’s not- as far as Jason knows, Dick’s spent _eight_ years being home-schooled in _Tibet_ since he was thirteen.

Before Dick had come to LexCorp, he’d never been anywhere else; never had a life, never had friends and never- never fallen in love or- or had sex. At least, Jason doesn’t _think_ so. And judging from the awkward way he’d been kissing Jason-

Jason’s almost _completely_ sure Dick’s a virgin, and he’d been upset not two hours before. Jason wants so badly to sleep with him, but he also doesn’t want to be the guy that takes advantage of someone in a vulnerable state.

Jason can’t believe he’s going to cockblock _himself,_ but-

“I can’t do this with you,” he finally says.

Dick’s expression crumbles at his words, and he flinches away like he’d been stung. Jason grabs his shoulders before he can get far though.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he says quickly. “I just- Dick, I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret in the morning.”

Dick stops moving and sits still over Jason, staring down at him, the look on his face defensive. “You’re- what makes you think I’ll regret this?”

“Because you don’t know what you want right now.” 

Jason knows it’s a poor choice of words the second they leave his mouth. But it’s too late to take them back now.

Dick swings off of him and off the bed, glaring at Jason, snarling. “Who the hell do you think you are? You don’t _know_ me, you don’t _know_ what I fucking _want._ ”

Jason sits up, and wishes he’d never opened the door at all. “That’s not- I didn’t mean that, Dick,” he tries, but Dick’s not done.

“You’re just a street rat from Gotham,” he hisses derisively. “A fucking orphan kid nobody gave two shits about before you saved Bruce Wayne’s life _once._ ”

“Hey,” Jason snaps, angry now, climbing out the other side of the bed and glaring right back at Dick. “That has nothing to do with-”

“It has _everything_ to do with this!”

Dick throws a punch at the wall, hard enough that Jason can see his knuckles tear, blood staining the off-white paint. His voice is strained, a dangerous coil of barely-restrained fury that’s no less volatile despite how lowly Dick is spitting out his words.

“That’s exactly what this is! You, the problem is _you_! You, with your Hallmark sob story and tragic background, your bad childhood, your hard-knock life on the streets! You think you’re so fucking special, living as a professional vigilante? You think you’re _better_ than me?”

Jason feels his anger grow with every word that comes out of Dick’s mouth, but he can’t even say anything because Dick’s started _crying._

He’s biting back sobs by the end of his tirade, and he stops only for breath, inhaling deeply before he murmurs, “You don’t know _anything_ about me. You don’t know anything about _him,_ but he still chose _you_ over his own fucking _sons_ while we spent _eight_ _years_ thinking he was _dead._ ”

He sags against the wall, and the blood stain smudges against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he drops to his knees, burying his face in his hands.

“Why did it have to be _you_?” he cries, the question wet and muffled behind his palms. “Why did he leave us for you? Why weren’t we good enough for him to come back for us? Why doesn’t he _want_ us, Jason? What’s _wrong_ with us?”

Jason’s too stunned by the emotional display to react. He’s still angry as hell, Dick’s words stinging the part of him that’s still resentful of his own past, of where he’d come from, but most of that anger is directed elsewhere now. There’s a brokenness in Dick’s voice that Jason is just starting to recognize, that Jason can’t help but feel responsible for.

It’s instinct that gets Jason finally moving, that helps guide his feet until he’s kneeling on the ground next to Dick, and it’s empathy that has him wrapping his arms around the other man to pull him close and hold him tight.

(Ten years ago, little Jason had asked the same things Dick is asking now, when he’d come home from school to find his mother’s dead body in the living room - the needle still sticking out of her arm, her mouth foaming at the corner; and his father nowhere to be found.

Ten years ago, little Jason had been sent to live in the Gotham’s Boys’ Home and had asked what he’d done wrong that had made his father not want him enough to come find him.

Ten years ago, little Jason had sat alone, curled in a corner of a twenty-boy dormitory on the eve of his ninth birthday, and had asked why no one would hold him and _love_ him, and tell him that everything was going to be alright.

Little Jason had never gotten the answers he’d wanted, but he’d gotten the ones he’d needed; from Roy, from Selina, from Bruce, from Kory. From all the people he’d met, that had made a difference in his life.

Little Jason had been a lonely, angry little boy, but he’d grown up to be a _good man,_ and he refuses to let Dick or Damian suffer that same feeling of _not being good enough_ for someone who doesn’t _deserve_ their unconditional love.)

“It’s alright, Dick,” Jason says gently, letting Dick cry into his chest, letting Dick grasp at his arms desperately as he sought comfort. “It’s alright. I’m here for you, _I_ want you and _Damian_ wants you. There’s _nothing_ wrong with you, Dick, nothing wrong with your brother. _Nothing_.”

Dick cries harder, if that’s at all possible, and Jason runs his hands through his hair and wipes away the snot that pools under his nose and kisses his forehead until the tears have run dry and Dick falls asleep in his arms from exhaustion.

He tucks Dick into his bed, wiping Dick’s face clean with a fresh towel and wrapping his bleeding knuckles with gauze from the medkit under the bed before piling on the extra pillows in the wardrobe until Dick’s practically sleeping in a coffin of down feathers. 

Dick burrows into them almost instinctively when Jason’s done, and Jason allows himself a moment to admire how soft and young Dick looks when he’s not on constant alert. 

Then Jason makes his way to Alfred’s room and unlocks the door with his master key, only barely able to stop himself from slamming it open because he doesn’t want to wake anyone else.

Bruce startles where he’s sitting in the armchair he’d dragged to Alfred’s bedside, while Clark continues to snore on the floor, leaning against the wall on the other side of the bed.

“We need to talk,” Jason hisses.

Bruce, to his credit, takes one look at the expression on Jason’s face and nods grimly. “Rooftop.”

Jason leads the way, because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop himself from punching Bruce in the face if he has to look at him. He knows Bruce is following close behind, can hear his footsteps and sense his presence. He still exudes the intimidating aura of the Bat, even after all these years, and it makes it easier for Jason to hold onto his anger. 

“What the _fuck_ did you say to him, B?” he demands the second they’re both standing outside in the chilly night air. 

“Why did you get them involved in this?” Bruce shoots back. “You _know_ I never wanted them in this life.”

Jason can’t help the laugh that forces its way out of his throat, as bitter and disbelieving as it is. “You think _I_ got them in?” he asks rhetorically. “Because news flash, Bruce; they’re _your_ sons. Did you really think they wouldn’t try to find you on their own?”

Bruce obviously hadn’t thought so, because he doesn’t look at all surprised about that. “But why did _you_ work with them?” he demands instead.

“Because they had no fucking clue what the fuck Luthor is capable of! What _Wilson_ is capable of! They were a danger to themselves and I just wanted to make sure they wouldn’t get themselves killed.”

“ _Luthor had Dick._ ”

“And that’s my fault, _fine_! I admit it! But don’t punish _them_ for _my_ mistake! We were _all_ looking for you, Bruce. But while my team was working blind thanks to your paranoia, Dick and Damian had access to your data and figured out what happened to you. It would’ve taken us years more to find you if they hadn’t been looking for you themselves!”

“I didn’t ask to be found, Jason.”

“Well too fucking bad, because we needed you! _They_ needed you!”

“ _I_ needed them alive and safe!”

Jason’s rendered speechless at the raised voice. It’s the first time since Bruce had woken up that Jason had heard him shout, and it’s a shock because even before all this, Bruce had rarely yelled. He would always somehow find a way to express his anger in just his tone, in just how intense he would growl his words, or how sharply he would say someone’s name.

For the first time since they’d reunited, Jason sees Bruce’s face, _really_ sees it, and despite how he doesn’t physically appear any different, there _is_ something in him that’s changed. There’s a tiredness in the way he stands that’s barely perceptible, and his eyes are old far beyond his age.

Before Jason can think of anything to say, Bruce sighs and closes his eyes, and something about him _sags_ downwards with resignation, even though he’s still standing ramrod straight before Jason.

“You saw what happened to Alfred,” Bruce says quietly. “There isn’t a single moment of my life when I don’t imagine Dick like that, imagine _Damian_ like that, or in worse condition. Even before Luthor- they’re constantly in danger just because they’re _my_ children. My work makes them a target to all my enemies, as long as they’re with me. I would rather live with the pain of being hated by them, of them believing that I’m dead, than live with the knowledge that _I_ am the reason they’ll suffer. I can’t be responsible for that, Jason. I’m not as strong as you think I am. I’m sorry.”

Bruce opens his eyes again, tilting his head up to stare at the foggy night sky. “I was recruited by the JL when I was young, _naïve_.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “I thought it was just work, that none of it was personal. That the consequences of my actions wouldn’t affect anyone but myself. But I was wrong, Jason. _Everything_ is personal with these people.”

Bruce falls silent, still looking up at the darkness above them, and Jason lets his words sink in, tries to _understand_ what he _doesn’t_ get at all. He doesn’t agree with Bruce; Dick and Damian will suffer _without_ him - _have_ suffered without him - regardless of whether Bruce is with them or not. At least if they have him, any suffering will be worth it to endure. Jason’s sure Dick would agree.

But then Jason’s not a father. Jason’s not Bruce. 

He might know first-hand what it’s like to lose his parents, but he has no idea what it’s like to be a parent that had lost their child, and especially not when that parent loves his children as much as Bruce does. Jason can’t even begin to imagine it.

He’d confronted Bruce tonight to argue for Dick and Damian, to knock sense into Bruce so that he’d stop hurting his sons unnecessarily. But now Jason’s starting to see that he has no right to do that. It’s not his place, and Bruce is just- he’s just doing what he thinks is best for the two people that seem to mean more to him than his own happiness.

Who is Jason to get in the middle of that?

Jason suddenly feels as tired as Bruce looks, and longs for the comfort and warmth of his bed downstairs.

But there’s also something else in what Bruce had said, something Jason can’t help but latch onto. Or rather, a _few_ somethings.

“Who threatened them, Bruce?” he asks, eyes narrowing. “And why is the bastard still out there?”

Bruce drags his eyes away from the sky to meet Jason’s, and something in the icy blues flashes darkly.

“He doesn’t have a name,” Bruce says. “Everyone just calls him the Joker. He’s everywhere but nowhere at the same time. I’ve been tracking him for two decades, and he leaves behind enough clues for me to know where he’s been, but he’s never careless enough for me to actually catch up to him. 

“When Dick was born and his mother died in labour, I withdrew from most fieldwork. I wanted to be a better father, to be there for Dick. But the Joker took it as a personal insult, accused me of _neglecting_ him. He said he would kill my son and any family I had if I didn’t keep playing his games. He gave me enough reason to believe him.”

The Joker.

The title sounds familiar, but Jason’s not sure where he’d heard it from. But whoever it is, he must be dangerous enough to put _Bruce_ on edge, and that’s enough for Jason to accept that- that maybe what Bruce is doing _is_ for the best.

Jason sighs deeply, running his hands over his face and through his hair, _really_ wishing he were in bed right now. “So that’s it?” he asks in a sullen tone, staring at Bruce. “You’re just gonna fuck off again after this?”

“I don’t want them to have to live in hiding for the rest of their lives.”

“But it’s fine to let them live thinking that their father doesn’t give a shit about them?”

Bruce doesn’t deign to respond to that, staring back at Jason with quiet determination. 

Jason sighs again. “I don’t understand why you won’t just tell them the truth,” he admits.

“It’s temptation. If they believe that I- that I don’t _want_ them, then they’ll never try to look for me again.”

“And if they do?”

“They won’t.”

Jason shakes his head, unable to believe how stubborn Bruce is being even though he should’ve expected nothing less. He’s forgotten how bull-headed his mentor could be.

“I’m sorry, Jason.”

The apology catches Jason completely off-guard, as does the hug that Bruce suddenly engulfs him in.

“I’m not the man you thought I was,” Bruce says quietly into his ear. “I’m not strong, and I’m not infallible. I need your help to look after them when I can’t.”

Jason’s barely gathered himself enough to hug Bruce back before Bruce is pulling away, squeezing Jason’s shoulders instead, and Jason’s not sure if the action’s supposed to be to comfort Jason or himself.

“For the record, your sons can look after themselves,” Jason says. “And I still think you’re making a huge mistake. But I can’t stop you, even if I wanted to.”

Bruce smiles wryly before letting go of Jason. “Don’t sell yourself short, kid,” he says. “You would give me a run for my money, at least.”

“Don’t try to make me feel better,” Jason retorts, but he can’t help himself from returning the smile, although his is a little more wobbly than he’d ever admit. “They’ll never forgive you for this, you know.”

Bruce’s smile drops completely, and Jason almost regrets saying that. But they both know it’s _true,_ whether Bruce likes it or not.

“I know, Jason,” he says, quiet and resigned. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there was actually a longer, meaner version of that scene between Dick and Jason, but it depressed me too much so I cut it short. I'm weak and I'm sorry.
> 
> Anyway, the next chapter is an epilogue and there'll be a little bonus as well, and then it's over! ~~Fucking finally, right?~~
> 
> PS: Dick's not actually a virgin, I just love fucking with Jason. :3c


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Bit of sexual stuff between JayDick and a bunch more mentions of human experimentation and what a terrible person Luthor is. Also, ~~horribly-written~~ action scene in the form of Dami/Dick sparring.
> 
> I snuck in not only the Titans kids, but also Teen Titans and Young Justice because I love them. 🤷 Also _Tim_ , ahh. I love Tim too, but you wouldn't know with how much I keep leaving him out of things 😂.

One Year Later

Jason’s been scaling the side of the tower for almost half an hour now, and he’s _still_ moving.

It’s an utter embarrassment, honestly, and he says as much to Dick over his comm line.

[ **They’re getting there** , **Jay** ,] Dick says soothingly, ever the diplomat.

“ _Half an hour,_ Dickie,” Jason grouses, slamming down the suction cup under his right hand a little harder than necessary. Maybe _that_ would finally get Gar’s attention. “We trained them better than this!”

[ ** _Exactly_** _._ **_We_** **trained them** , **Jason** , **not the other way around**. **You can’t expect them to be as good as you in less than a month**.]

“Pretty sure it’s been two,” Jason mutters sulkily, continuing on his way. “I told them to keep an eye on _all_ entry points. They shouldn’t have overlooked even the most improbable one! Never let your guard down, that’s the _first_ thing we drilled into them!”

Jason’s already at the rooftop by then, and he’s shocked when hands grab his wrist as he grabs a hold of the ledge, pulling him up and over it until he’s stumbling across the flat roof like a clumsy idiot. But Jason recovers quickly, twisting out of the hold and swinging a kick at his attacker, only to stagger to a stop when he realizes that it’s just Dick.

Dick grins back at him in full Titan gear, hands raised in the air in surrender. “What were you saying about letting your guard down?” he teases.

Jason glares at him in response, tearing off his climbing gear with a little more force than necessary and tossing them across the floor. “You’re supposed to be in the control room,” he says irritably. “Who’s checking their progress?”

“Damian,” Dick answers, his grin widening in that way that Jason knows means he’s up to no good. “Also, one of them might have been lying in wait for you up here, so your argument’s invalid.”

“Is that so?”

Dick side-steps the grab Jason makes for him, but he doesn’t expect Jason to play dirty by using his grappler and shooting a line around Dick’s legs. The reinforced wire wraps around his knees twice, and Dick flails as he drops to the ground with a loud thud.

“That’s cheating,” Dick complains, rolling over onto his back to glare up at Jason.

Jason grins back, forgetting that Dick can’t see it with his mask on, and folds the faceplates back before sauntering over to Dick. He plants one foot on either side of Dick’s thighs, looming over him, his grin turning into a leer.

“All’s fair, Dickie,” he says. “Bad guys will do anything to take advantage of you.”

Jason really shouldn’t be surprised when Dick shoots his wrist dart up at him in retaliation but somehow he is. The dart catches firmly on the collar of Jason’s jacket, and it’s one with a wire, so Dick smirks at Jason before giving the dart a sharp, powerful tug.

Jason doesn’t have time to catch himself, falling down onto his knees and straddling Dick unwittingly, and then in another expert movement that has Jason remembering exactly why he’s developed a competency kink recently, Dick easily flips them over and reverses their positions.

“You’re right,” Dick says, bearing down on Jason. He’s somehow unravelled the wire from around his legs - _when had he even_ done _that?_ \- and he straddles one of Jason’s thighs, meaningfully nudging a knee close to Jason’s groin as his hands run down the length of Jason’s arms. “I’m tempted to take advantage of you right now.”

Jason feels a tingle of anticipation run down his spine, and shifts under Dick until Dick’s knee is resting firmly against him. “Oh really?” he says, and his voice is a little more breathless than it should be. “Mr Grayson’s a bad guy now? Whatever will I do?”

Dick’s hands stop at Jason’s wrists, and Jason exhales loudly when Dick draws them up and slams them against the floor on either side of Jason’s head. He keeps his grip on them tight, and Jason knows that he can easily get out of the hold, but he also knows that Dick’s pretty well-versed with pressure points. Especially _Jason’s_ pressure points.

“You _might_ be able to convince me to let you go,” Dick says in a low tone, leaning his face down closer to Jason’s. “For a price.”

Dick pushes his knee harder against Jason, and Jason gasps, not expecting it, too enthralled with the soft lines of Dick’s lips so close to his own.

“Aw, cat got your tongue, pretty boy?” Dick teases, and then he dives down, his mouth latching onto the crook of Jason’s neck.

Jason’s suit is too thick to really feel anything through it, but the fact doesn’t discourage Dick, who takes in a mouthful of the Kevlar and bites down on Jason’s shoulder through it. The pressure is what gets Jason, and the warmth of Dick’s body pushing close against his, and Jason maybe starts enjoying this a little too much.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his back arching slightly as he feels arousal pool in his gut. “Shit, Dick, don’t-”

Dick lets go of one of Jason’s wrists to run his hand down Jason’s chest instead, his fingers hooking onto Jason’s utility belt and tugging at it slightly. Dick pulls off of Jason’s shoulder and grins at him briefly before kissing at the corner of Jason’s slack lips.

“I don’t think Mr Hood needs this anymore, does he?” he asks, his breaths dampening Jason’s skin as he tugs at Jason’s belt again.

Jason glares at him, but it’s obligatory at best, because he’s not moving his freed hand at all to even attempt to stop Dick.

“We should check what else he’s hiding down here too,” Dick continues. “Just to be safe.”

Dick unlatches the belt deftly with one hand, and then he’s unbuttoning Jason’s pants, and Jason doesn’t have time to truly consider what a Very Bad Idea this is before he feels Dick’s gloved palm wrapping around him, and then the only thing he really cares about is getting Dick to make good on his threats.

\---

Gar and Raven never catch Jason, or even go anywhere near the rooftop in fact, so Jason spends the rest of the afternoon lecturing them about everything they’d done wrong during the exercise.

They’re not happy about it, predictably, but Jason’s not training them to make them happy. He’s training them so that they don’t get other people - or themselves - killed when the time comes for them to actually go out in the field.

Dick thinks Jason’s too hard on them, most days, but even after a year of working on cases, Dick still hasn’t seen the worst side of the world that they live in now, so it’s easy for him to say.

So much has happened since they’d rescued Bruce from Luthor twelve months ago, and Jason’s secretly glad that Dick’s still- that he’s still _him._ Sometimes Dick works himself into a dark mood, on days when things get too much, or when a mission goes south, or when they almost lose someone because they’d had to make hard decisions. _Those_ days, Dick’s darkness would remind Jason painfully of Bruce.

But those days are few and far in between, and Jason’s always there to bear the brunt of Dick’s pain with him. It’s all worth it to see Dick smile again, to have Dick pull Jason close at night and hear him whisper, soft and gentle and openly vulnerable; _I love you._ And to be able to say it back to him without fear.

(Some days, Jason still can’t believe Dick hadn’t just told Jason to fuck off, and it’s a hard habit to not keep expecting the other shoe to drop.)

Twelve months ago, Lex Luthor’s face had been all over the news, first because his whole mansion had burnt down after a ‘mysterious’ fire had broken out in the kitchen. Then because _someone_ had sent a package to the Daily Planet, which had contained evidence of not only years’ worth of fraud, bribery and money-laundering, but also weapons smuggling and, best of all, intimate details of the infamous Arkham Incident almost a decade ago.

Suddenly, Bruce Wayne’s name had been a top-trending search on the internet, all over the country. Stories were being re-told, rumours re-ignited. Conspiracy theorists rejoiced at being proven right, and so-called expert investigators were refusing to comment and avoiding going out in public so that they wouldn’t get mobbed.

The truth of what had happened had finally come out, and because of the public outcry, a rushed review of the case had been carried out, and four months following Luthor’s incarceration, Bruce Wayne had been declared posthumously not guilty of the crimes he’d been accused of.

Despite the bitter way Bruce had parted with his sons, Dick and Damian had almost cried with relief at the news. They’d finally done what they’d set out to do; find their father, and prove his innocence. It must have felt like a burden had been lifted off their shoulders, even if that burden had been self-imposed.

The bigger challenge then had been to decide where to go from there, but Luthor had helped make that decision for them too.

Amidst Luthor’s data - the portions of which they hadn’t given to anyone - they had found information on other labs located all over the world, labs where Luthor had been carrying out more experiments. Some had involved Krypton, while others had been focused on _existing_ anomalies.

Jason had never heard of the term _metahuman,_ and neither had Dick nor Damian, at least not before they’d gotten their hands on Luthor’s notes. But all three of them had had to become intimately acquainted with it when they’d started storming Luthor’s labs, when they’d found people - most of them _kids_ \- being subjected to inhumane tests in the name of _scientific research._

Their first find had been a young man named Wallace West. West had died not two weeks after they’d rescued him.

There had been nothing they could do to help him, and they’d done _everything._ They’d even asked _Bruce_ and while Bruce hardly approved of what they were doing, he’d tried to help too. But the experiments Luthor had been conducting on West had resulted in his cells degenerating too fast without constant treatment, and he’d died as his body had shut down.

(West had _wanted_ to die, Jason knows. He’d told them that Luthor had taken him when he was only five years old, and he’d known little else but pain during his short life in captivity.

He could’ve told them about his condition when they’d rescued him, and they might’ve been able to get him what he’d needed, at least enough to keep him alive long enough for them to find a cure. But he _hadn’t._

He hadn’t said anything, not until he’d laid in the infirmary at their safehouse, and he’d _thanked_ them for giving him peace before he’d breathed his last.)

Dick had taken his death the hardest. It had been the first time he’d actually seen someone die in front of him, someone he’d been trying to save. The first time he’d felt like he’d truly failed.

But there had been others still, and so Jason had sent Roy and Kory back home to keep an eye on the Outlaws for him while he’d stayed to help Dick and Damian on their new mission.

(Roy had given him shit for that too, but what’s new.)

After West, they’d found Donna Troy, and Megan Morse, and Victor Stone, and Timothy Drake, and - the weirdest one yet - Clark Kent’s _clone,_ Conner. 

Each of them had had a story to tell, each of them had been irreversibly altered by Luthor, but all of them had _lived._

At first, that had been enough. But after their safehouse had gotten too crowded with each new addition, and each of them had slowly started going crazy from the cabin fever, Donna had hatched the genius plan of creating the Titans.

It had been a drunken joke, at first, calling themselves titans on account of the metahumans’ incredible abilities; Donna could jump fifteen stories high without breaking a sweat, Megan could read minds and manifest illusions, Victor was literally _half-robot,_ Tim was a walking, talking encyclopedia with his eidetic memory, and Conner - like his original - was practically a demi-god.

But then Jason had calculated the costs, weighed out the possibilities, had considered the time and the resources that would be needed to actually train and discipline them. None of them had been able to control their abilities too well when they’d first been freed, but in a controlled environment, Jason knew they’d be able to learn how to without worrying about levelling half a city.

With the Waynes’ wealth and Jason’s own considerable income from the Outlaws, Jason had known it was possible.

And so they’d appropriated a building in Jump City; later fondly christened Titan Tower.

There, they’d started learning more about each other and how to work together, how to better control their own powers. And eventually, they’d learnt to trust each other too.

There had still been more labs to shut down, possibly more metahumans to save, and so instead of just Jason, Dick and Damian doing all the hard-hitting, the others would go too, in teams of twos or threes. 

On a good day, they’d been able to shut down three labs at the same time, and Jason would’ve been lying if he’d said he hadn’t felt immense pride at the way the others moved together like well-oiled machines.

(Dick had called Jason the daddy of their new little family, and while Jason had made him sleep on the couch for a week for it, he’d secretly felt pleased.

Jason’s always wanted to have kids, and at least with the Titans, he’d been able to skip the whole crying and diaper-changing stage of the deal. 

Although the teenage angst is- _god,_ Jason’s definitely got newfound respect for Selina’s patience with him at that age.)

Now, it's been a month since they’d had any intel on other labs, and a month since they’d saved Gar and Raven from the last one they’d hit, and so Jason’s been spending a lot of time training the two.

(Gar can shapeshift into animals while Raven can create physical manifestation of shadows, and if the two of them weren’t still somewhat traumatised by their experience with Luthor’s scientists, Jason’s sure they’d be total monsters to him.

As it is, he’s still got them shaking in their boots at the sight of his Red Hood mask, and Jason milks it for all its worth, while he still can.)

Dick’s supposed to be helping, but Dick’s also a little shit that likes to watch Jason get all riled up over how terrible Gar and Raven are at hand-to-hand combat, so these days, Jason usually feels like a real father. When he’s not asking them all to pick up after themselves - _they’re all such slobs_ \- and reminding them not to slack off, he’s busy telling off their latest recruits for doing those same things.

It’s so fucking unfair that Dick’s made Jason the un-fun parent in their situation because of that, but on the upside, Damian’s warmed up to Jason immensely in the past year, and so he’s usually helpful on calling Dick out on his shit.

Like right now.

“The training mats are not going to roll themselves, Grayson.”

“But Dami-”

“You’re a disgrace to this team.”

“Seriously, don’t you think that’s a little-”

“I have also observed a lapse in your daily regime. Do you wish me to inform mother that you require more of her tutelage?”

“I’m _twenty-two,_ Damian, I don’t need to be lectured on-”

Dick jumps back with a yelp when Damian swings his training sword at him without warning, cutting him off mid-sentence.

“Dami!” Dick protests, back-flipping when Damian counter-swings without pause.

“Then _behave_ like it!” Damian lunges at Dick, who jumps over his head and rolls a few feet away before drawing his own escrima sticks and turning to face Damian.

Damian smirks at him and charges with a cry, swinging his wooden sword in swift, vicious strikes that Dick’s barely managing to parry.

Jason’s sitting at the bleachers to the left of the large hall, maintaining an impassive expression as he watches the two Waynes start sparring again. Connor’s a lot less composed, sitting on Jason’s left, practically vibrating with anticipation as he watches the impromptu fight.

“What’s their latest tally?” he asks without tearing his eyes away from Dick and Damian trading blows.

Dick’s finally going on the offensive once he’s realized that Damian’s not letting him off easy, so now Damian’s the one parrying hits from Dick’s sticks. Despite Damian’s size, Dick’s still more nimble on his feet between the two of them, so Damian’s struggling a lot more than Dick had been, receiving blows that would’ve knocked anyone else flat onto their ass.

It’s hard to tell who’s winning at the rate they’re going, at least for Jason. Jason knows Dick’s still pulling his punches, while Damian’s resilience is comparable to Bruce’s. He’s watched enough of the brothers’ fights to know that it’s still too early to tell who’s going to come out the victor.

“Fourteen to twenty, Damian’s favour,” Tim answers Connor’s question distractedly. He’s sitting on Jason’s right, scanning through a report on the tablet he’s holding. “He’s right. Dick’s been slacking off too much.”

“My money’s still on Dick _letting_ the brat win,” Victor argues from where he’s sitting in the seat behind Tim. 

“Are you forgetting all those times _we_ sparred with that kid?” Donna scoffs next to him. “There’s no way Dick’s _letting_ him win anything.”

Connor lets out a sympathetic hiss of pain when Damian manages to slam the point of his sword right in Dick’s gut, and Dick doubles over with a grunt. But he recovers quickly, pushing the sword away and side-stepping it as he swipes one of his escrimas at Damian’s head.

Damian pulls back to avoid the hit, and Dick uses that one moment of his inattention to drop to the ground and sweep Damian’s feet out from under him. Damian drops onto his back with an enraged cry, but before he can move, Dick’s already pinning him down by the throat with both his sticks.

“Yield,” Dick pants down at him with a smirk.

Jason can practically feel the Titans around him holding their breaths, anticipating Damian’s reaction, and even Tim’s actually looked up from his tablet to watch the scene with wide eyes.

Jason’s the only one that knows Dick’s _definitely_ gotten sloppy, because he’s the only one that sees Damian tense up a split second before he’s swinging his left leg up and catching the back of Dick’s head with his foot in a move that Jason knows Dick had taught the kid himself. 

Dick yelps at the impact, at the same time he stumbles forward over Damian, and Damian rolls out of the way and onto his knees, grabbing his sword with both hands before swinging it down over the back of Dick’s neck and stopping just short of actually hitting him.

“You’re dead,” Damian declares, glaring down his nose at Dick. “Your footwork is _atrocious,_ Grayson.”

Connor groans with disappointment. “I thought for sure Dick was gonna win this time,” he mutters.

The rest of them sigh in unison, except for Jason. He’s still watching Dick and Damian. He knows the fight’s _still_ not over yet.

Dick tosses one of his escrima sticks over his head, and Damian pulls back, watching it sail up into the air. While Damian’s distracted again, Dick rolls over and to his knees, delivering three consecutive blows to Damian’s wrists, his side, and then his chest, until Damian’s dropping his sword and staggering a couple of steps back.

The escrima in the air drops back down, just in time for Dick to catch it in his free hand, and Damian regains his footing with an annoyed growl, lunging towards Dick. Dick backflips out of reach, dodging Damina’s angry punches with ease, laughing gleefully as he does.

“Rule number one, Dami,” Dick’s saying between jumping and ducking. “Killing blows don’t count.”

“I’ll _show_ you a killing blow!”

Damian retrieves his sword and charges at Dick again, and Dick parries the swing with his escrimas and crosses them until the sword is caught. Damian tugs on it, but Dick twists, bringing it down and taking Damian with it. The kid drops onto his front with a grunt, and while he tries to catch his breath, Dick drops his sticks and grabs the sword instead, at the same time he straddles Damian’s back.

Damian makes an angry sound, struggling immediately, but he stills when Dick drags the sword across his neck from behind and pulls just enough to strain the kid.

They’re both panting and heaving, the sound of their ragged breathing loud in the silence of the gymnasium. Damian’s glaring up at Dick from an awkward angle, but Dick’s just grinning down at him, beaming with pride.

And then-

[ **Jason** , **there’s a package for you in the lobby** ,] Megan’s voice announces through the speakers in the gym. [ **Do you want me to sign it for you**?]

Dick looks over at Jason with a questioning tilt of his head, and Jason shrugs, reaching up to click on his comm unit in his ear.

“Go ahead, I’ll be right down.”

Jason stands, at the same time that Damian knocks his head back against Dick’s chin, and Dick yelps as he drops the sword in surprise, staggering backwards and off of Damian. Damian rolls over and swings a kick across Dick’s legs just for good measure, sending Dick toppling heavily down onto his ass on the matts as Damian catapults his sword into the air with a foot before catching it in one hand and pointing it down towards Dick’s chest with a smirk.

“Dead again.”

“Ouch,” Connor says, and Jason catches Victor and Tim wincing in agreement.

Donna’s the only one that’s happy, pumping a fist into the air and cheering. 

“Called it! You’re all doing my chores this _whole_ month.”

\---

Jason picks up the package from the lobby and inspects it with mild curiousity before dumping it in his and Dick’s shared living space.

He doesn’t think about it for the rest of the day, or evening, not through more training with the rest of the Titans, and not through dinner with them either. In fact, Jason’s forgotten about it completely when he comes out of the shower that night, until he sees Dick sitting on their bed and looking into the opened package, his expression confused.

“What’s wrong?”

Dick looks up at him, still with that lost look on his face. “Did you order a new gun?”

It’s Jason’s turn to be confused then, and he frowns as he sits down on the bed next to Dick. “What’re you talking about?” he asks, but then he looks into the package too, and-

It’s like the bed and the ground has been pulled away from underneath him. Jason’s breath catches in his throat and he feels like he’s floating in nothingness as memories pound into the forefront of his mind unbidden.

It’s _the gun._ Jason knows it better than he knows the back of his own hand, along with all the bad feelings that come with it. It even still has the bloodstains on the barrel, and the faint whorls of partial fingerprints when the police had had it dusted. It looks perfectly preserved, kept in the same condition since the last time Jason had held it.

“Jason?”

Dick’s voice is a faint echo in his ears, cautious and concerned, and it’s enough to snap Jason back to the present for a moment.

“Where did you get this?” He knows it’s a stupid question, but it’s the only thing that manages to make it past his lips in a hoarse whisper.

“It was in the package you got,” Dick answers. “Jason, what’s wrong? What’s going on?”

What’s going on? Jason doesn’t have a fucking clue either.

Only four people in the world know what this gun means to him, who know where he is now and how to find him. 

None of them have any reason to send it to him. _So who did_?

“Jay, talk to me.” 

Dick moves the package aside and grabs Jason’s hands, and Jason only knows this because he can’t see the gun anymore. He only sees their hands on Dick’s lap, their fingers intertwined as Dick squeezes them together comfortingly.

“Jason, _breathe._ ”

Breathe. It’s a good idea, and Jason’s brain realizes belatedly that he’d stopped doing that. He inhales, long and deep, and squeezes his eyes shut against the memories that he’s spent years pushing aside. 

_Fuck fuck fuck, Jay, what do we do? What do we do?!_

There’s so much blood - on his hands, on his shirt, on his _face and in his mouth_ \- and he doesn’t think any of it will ever wash away completely. He feels dirty and disgusting, and even though his skin’s still warm from the water in the shower earlier, Jason wants to douse himself again just to feel _clean._ To pretend that he _is_ clean.

_Don’t touch him! Ju- just get the fuck out of here, okay? I’ll deal with it!_

_But-_

_Just go, Roy! Go!_

Vaguely, he registers Dick pulling him close, wrapping Jason in his arms, and Jason _lets him_ because he’s- he doesn’t think he can hold himself up on his own right now.

“Shh, it’s okay angel, you’re good. You’re here, hush now, it’s okay…”

Dick’s humming something softly, and the melody rumbles through his chest where Jason’s leaning against, reverberating through him, carrying over the tune and Dick’s warmth until Jason feels like he’s submerged in them. The song’s not familiar at all, but it’s gentle and slow, and Jason listens to it with single-minded desperation, latching onto it in an attempt to ignore the roaring pounding of his own heart.

_What are you doing here, son?_

_Is that_ blood _on him?_

_What the hell’s wrong with that freak?_

_I knew he was a psycho…_

_Shut the fuck up!_

Jason opens his eyes - _when had they even closed_ \- and finds himself staring down at Dick’s lap. He’s half-sprawled across it, hunched into himself like a ball, and Dick’s still hugging him close, his strong hands carding soothingly through Jason’s hair.

Jason tries to speak, but it comes out as a soft keen instead, and Dick pulls him up, straightens him until Dick’s cupping his hands around Jason’s cheeks and is looking into his eyes, searching for answers that Jason can’t give him right now.

“I love you, Jason,” he says quietly, his brows furrowing, the corners of his soft lips drooping with the beginnings of a sad frown. “Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me so I know how to help you, angel.”

Jason tries. He really does. 

But when he opens his mouth and makes another attempt to string together an intelligible sentence, his vision doubles before his eyes roll up into the back of his head, and then he passes out.

\---

Dick’s a little ashamed that the first thing he does when Jason falls limply across his lap is completely freeze up with shock.

Jason had been- he’d been totally out of it, in a way that Dick has never seen him before. Whatever the gun had been, it had affected him so much that he’d become practically catatonic, and Dick regrets ever opening the package in the first place.

It takes far too long for him to pull himself together and drag Jason over the bed, laying him down on it as gently as he can manage considering Jason weighs a hundred and eighty pounds of muscle, and then Dick runs out of the room to find Donna.

She’s half-asleep when she pulls open her door, and Dick can’t properly explain to her what’s going on because his mind’s still full of the thousands of possible reasons why Jason’s currently in their room, passed out for seemingly no reason. Donna’s not pleased, predictably, but Dick figures he must look a mess because she doesn’t question him much before following him upstairs.

“Did you guys fight or something?”

Dick’s pacing a hole into the floor by the bed as Donna looks Jason over, taking his pulse, feeling his forehead for his temperature, checking his pupils under his closed lids.

Dick doesn’t hear her question until she’s snapping her fingers at him, her expression concerned as she asks, “Hey, lover boy. Do I need to diagnose you too?”

Dick forces himself to still, but he can’t stop himself from crossing his arms and tapping his fingers against this elbows, his left foot beating a fast-paced rhythm into the carpeted floor, somewhat vaguely in tandem to the racing of his heart.

“I’m fine,” he bites out, looking away from Donna and over at Jason’s slack features. “How is he?”

Donna’s expression is dubious at his answer, her brow arched elegantly to emphasize how much she doesn’t believe his obvious lie.

“There’s nothing physically wrong with him,” she says eventually. “His blood pressure’s slightly elevated but it’s not abnormal if he’s been doing something vigorous.”

“Are you sure?” Dick uncrosses his arms and runs a hand through his hair instead, glancing between Jason and Donna, his foot still tapping incessantly. “Could it be anything internal? Should I get Connor to do an x-ray on him? Shit, I should get Connor to do an x-ray on him-”

He’s already halfway across the room, but Donna practically jumps off the bed and grabs his arm before he can leave.

“Hang on, Dick,” she says, the exasperation in her tone reflected in her expression. “You have to explain how he got like this first before you wake up the whole building.”

Rationally, Dick knows she’s got a point. But Jason’s also unconscious for no _fucking_ reason and Dick had wasted precious time freaking out earlier, which could’ve been precious time spent on figuring out what’s wrong with his boyfriend. Dick shrugs Donna’s hand off his arm with a glare.

“He could be _dying,_ ” he growls. “I need to get him help-”

“Which we _will,_ but we can’t help him if we don’t know what happened to him.”

Donna meets his glare without flinching, which is impressive considering she’s seen what Dick’s done in a rage. Her own tone is firm and level, and it’s enough to get Dick to calm down a little, enough to drive into him the fact that she’s _right._

It takes monumental effort to relax his posture, to stop looking at her like _she’s_ the enemy here, and Dick takes several deep breaths before he can bring himself to nod jerkily.

“You’re right,” he says. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t- I’m just scared, Donna.”

Donna rests a hand on his shoulder gently, squeezing. “It’s okay, I get it. Just calm down and tell me what happened.”

Donna ushers him back to the bed, sitting him down on the edge of it, and Dick’s eyes immediately fall back onto Jason’s still form.

He looks- he looks like he’s just sleeping, but Dick still feels so fucking _scared_ that there’s more to it than that. The look on Jason’s face earlier- that hadn’t been normal in any way, shape or form, at least not on Jason.

“I don’t actually know what happened,” Dick tells Donna, forcing himself to look away from Jason and into Donna’s eyes instead. “One minute he was- he wasn’t himself, and then he just passed out?”

Donna grabs his hands, which Dick hadn’t realized he’d been using to squeeze his knees so tightly that his knuckles had gone white, and wordlessly pries them off before cradling them between her own.

“Okay, what was happening _before_ that?”

Dick glances over at the bedside table, where he’d dumped the package earlier. It’s still there, the flaps still flipped open, and Dick frowns at it, once more regretting having picked it up at all.

“I was asking him about the package.” He thinks back on Jason walking out of the bathroom, dressed only in his loose sweats and still drying his hair with a towel. He’d been fine until then, until he’d sat down next to Dick and seen the- “There was a gun in it and I asked him if he ordered a new one.”

But it hadn’t been a new gun. That’s why Dick had been confused; the gun in the package had clearly been used, and used _seriously_ if the dried blood on it were genuine.

“Then he got- weird. He had this _look_ on his face and he just- he didn’t say anything except ask me where I got it from.”

Donna hums thoughtfully, shifting to get a look at the package Dick is talking about, and lets go of his hands to reach over for it. Dick almost wants to stop her, worried that what had happened to Jason might happen to her too.

But nothing happens as Donna peers into the package, although she scowls with confusion at the sight of the gun.

“This doesn’t _look_ new,” she says. “Where is it from?” She moves the flaps and lifts it to inspect the sides, but Dick already knows she won’t find anything.

“There’s no return address,” he informs her. “I checked.”

Donna doesn’t stop looking though, settling the box over her lap to reach inside the package instead. She picks up the gun gingerly by the grip with one hand and rifles through the foam peanuts with another.

She stops when she seems to have felt something, and pulls out a-

“Card,” she says, putting the gun back inside the box. “Does this mean anything to you?”

Dick takes the card from her, and turns it over; it’s an ordinary joker card from a deck of playing cards, but like the gun, it looks used. It’s torn in one corner, and covered in stains, and there’s nothing particularly unique about it at all, except for a short, thin lock of red hair taped onto its back.

“It doesn’t,” Dick says, frowning.

“Is that _real_ hair?”

Before Dick can answer, the bed jostles as Jason wakes up abruptly, sitting up straight like electricity had shot through him.

“ _Jesus,_ ” Donna says, jumping with shock. “What the hell-”

Dick drops the card and climbs over the bed to Jason’s side, worried again. Jason’s visibly tensed, his breathing harsh and fast, and Dick touches his face gently to soothe him. His skin feels hot and damp with perspiration under Dick’s palm.

“Jay, it’s okay,” Dick says, turning Jason’s head until wide, teal eyes are looking at him. “It’s okay, it’s just me.”

Jason doesn’t seem to actually _see_ him, even though he’s facing Dick directly, but Dick doesn’t stop talking. He keeps his voice low and quiet, keeps saying Jason’s name and other empty platitudes until Jason finally loosens up a little and his eyes return to their normal size.

Jason reaches up to curl his fingers around Dick’s wrist, licking at his lips before there’s finally some recognition in his gaze.

“Dick,” he says.

Dick nods, forcing a smile, squeezing Jason’s face. “It’s me, angel.”

And Dick knows Jason’s _okay_ because Jason rolls his eyes and grumbles, “I told you not to call me that.”

Dick lets go of Jason’s face to throw his arms around his neck, hugging him tight despite his half-hearted protests at the action.

“You asshole, don’t _do_ that to me!”

“What did _I_ do?”

Jason’s hugging him back though, his arms winding around Dick’s waist, and Dick just barely hears Donna’s pointed cough as Jason drags him closer until Dick’s straddling Jason’s hips on the bed.

“ _Okay,_ looks like everything’s fine here, I’ll just- you know, go back to sleep.”

She’s gone with a soft click of the door closing behind her, and Dick makes a mental note to make it up to her as he buries his face into the crook of Jason’s neck, holding him as close as he possibly can. Jason indulges him, peppering feather-light kisses along Dick’s shoulder, his hands gripping Dick’s sides like he’s just as afraid to let go of him as Dick is.

“Not that I mind the cuddling,” he says, after a moment. “But what the fuck happened?”

The genuine confusion in Jason’s tone tears Dick out of his haze of relief, and Dick pulls back from him with a frown. Jason loosens his arms from around Dick’s waist so that Dick can look into his eyes, and it’s clear that Jason really doesn’t remember.

“Are you really okay?” When Jason nods his head, Dick debates whether or not he should tell him. He doesn’t want a repeat of what had happened earlier, but the two of them have sworn to never keep secrets from each other any more.

Considering how they’d met, trust is the only issue they’ve ever had to work through. They’ve never had a serious fight over anything else, and knowing that they know everything about each other is the only thing that’s kept them strong since they’d decided to give their relationship a try.

It takes Dick a whole minute to decide, and he kisses Jason briefly before he tells him, “You blacked out after you saw the gun in the package. I didn’t know what to do so I asked Donna to help, but you woke up on your own. Are you _really_ okay, Jason?”

Jason huffs, pulling Dick back down to kiss his forehead before flipping them over until Dick’s lying on his back, arms still hanging loosely around Jason’s neck, Jason kneeling between his spread legs.

“Do I not _feel_ okay?” Jason asks, leaning down to nip at the corner of Dick’s jaw, his hips bearing down on Dick teasingly.

Dick runs his hands down Jason’s shoulders, rolling his eyes even though Jason can’t see the action.

“This isn’t a joke,” he protests, but he sounds breathless, and even _he_ can’t take himself seriously about it.

Jason hums amicably against Dick’s skin, running a hand down Dick’s side to rest on his hip, and Dick gasps when Jason drags him up and slots them against each other firmly. Dick can already feel Jason’s growing arousal through his sweats, and with Jason’s heat enveloping him so completely, Dick knows he’s following quickly behind.

“I’m not joking,” Jason murmurs into Dick’s ear, rolling his hips at the same time he pulls Dick’s leg up and wraps it around his own waist.

“Jay…” Dick’s breath stutters in his throat when Jason grabs the hem of Dick’s t-shirt and hikes it up in one smooth, forceful movement.

He moves down, his lips tracing along Dick’s bared chest and stopping just above his navel, where Jason nips at the skin there like he’s trying to take a bite out of him.

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

Dick almost doesn’t catch the quiet apology, and he doesn’t get to think too much about it either when Jason moves even lower, and fingers hook into the waistband of Dick’s pants and boxers before pulling them down together.

Dick gasps again as he feels cold air grazing against him, and he pushes himself up to his elbows to glare down at Jason. Jason’s smirking back at him, and then Jason takes a hold of him with both hands and lines him up before he swallows Dick whole.

“ _Fuck,_ Jason-”

\---

Jason’s packed and ready to go, but he can’t bring himself to leave yet.

Dick’s sound asleep, lying on his side, clinging onto a pillow like he’s trying to choke it to death in his dreams.

He looks beautiful, naked in the moonlight filtering through the window, the bite marks Jason had left on him littering his skin distinctly. He’s not usually a heavy sleeper, and he’s always had a hyper-awareness of people staring at him even in his sleep, but Jason had worn him out. 

It would be the last time he would ever hold Dick again and Jason had wanted- had _needed_ the memory to last.

If he’s going to throw all this away, he’s going to do it knowing full well what he’s losing.

He doesn’t want to forget what Dick tastes like on his tongue, what Dick looks like while he’s moving inside of him, what Dick sounds like crying out his name as Jason wrings every last ounce of desire from his body.

He never wants to forget what Dick feels like, nestled firmly in his arms, his lips mouthing _I love you_ against Jason’s skin.

Jason doesn’t remember the last time he’d cried, but he’s not ashamed to admit that he’s doing it now. Standing by the bed, casting a shadow over Dick’s defenseless form, his fists clenched painfully tight by his sides.

A couple of tears drop onto the bed sheets by Dick’s arms, like little black bullet holes punching through the light material, and Jason finally tears his gaze away and strides across the room.

It feels like something’s tearing through his chest with every step that he takes, but the sight of the package and the joker card that sits on it reminds Jason that this is _necessary._

( _I’m so sorry, Bruce. I’m so sorry I didn’t understand it before._ )

He picks up the card and slips it inside his jacket pocket before picking up the package and his duffel bag.

( _I'_ _m sorry I have to hurt him too._ )

He doesn’t look back when he leaves the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! It's finally finished ~~thank fuck~~!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, and especially to your emotional responses in the comments. 💙 This whole fic's been a blast, and I sincerely hope you've enjoyed yourself throughout! 
> 
> Despite how it ended, there won't be a sequel for this, at least not any time soon. I'm still working on the drafts and it's slow-moving ~~and I'm an asshole to the boys~~. At any rate, if you're wondering about the _details_ of the notorious Arkham Incident that kept getting mentioned, it's a bonus chapter that will be added when I'm actually done with it. But it's not exactly _crucial_ to the rest of the fic (kind of like the capsule McGuffin), so it's completely optional to wait for it. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks again for reading my self-indulgent mess!! 💙


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason said keeping a journal helps

03 - 20  
Jason said keeping a journal helps  
Writing things down makes everything less  
I don’t know  
It helped him when he  
~~Fuck Jason~~  
~~Fuck dad~~  
~~why does it hurt~~  
I don’t think it helps

04 - 03  
Damian still won’t talk to me  
I don’t know what to do

04 - 23  
We sent the package to the Daily Planet  
Damian’s ~~teacher~~ counsellor has a cousin that works there  
She’s supposedly ~~good~~ trustworthy  
~~Uncle~~ Clark trusts her  
I guess we’ll just have to see

04 - 25  
Damian found five locations of other labs. He’s finally talking to me so I guess it’s a good thing.  
The labs have more test subjects. Luthor marked them as successful.  
~~I don’t know if we should go~~  
It’s not like we have anything else to do.

04 - 30  
I told Jason I forgive him. I think I do, but I don’t think I’m ready to trust him again. He says he’s willing to wait. ~~He’s still sweet~~ It’s nice of him.

We’re infiltrating the lab in Central tonight, 0100 hours. Me, Jason and Roy. Damian wanted to go, but we need someone on the ground since Kory’s visiting her sister in ~~Tema~~ ~~Tamari~~ Tamaran. (Still don’t know where that is and the internet doesn’t either. Not worth pissing her off by asking though.)

Damian thinks it’s an excuse for me to be overprotective of him ~~and maybe he’s right~~ but we both know he’s more than capable of taking care of himself. He’s been more receptive of Jason than me nowadays though, so it’s Jason that finally convinced him to stay behind.

I owe him for that.

05 - 03  
There were five test subjects in the lab and only one of them survived; Wallace West.

Wally says he was born with the ability to access something called the ‘Speed Force’. It’s an extradimensional energy that exists parallel to us but is invisible to most people. Apparently it’s a hereditary gift that runs through his mother’s side of the family.

The Speed Force lets Wally travel faster than light, and theoretically, through time itself. Somehow, Luthor found out about it and ~~kidnapped~~ found him. According to Wally, Luthor has been obsessed with people like him for as long as Wally’s known him; people Wally had heard Luthor call ‘metahumans’.

Luthor’s been conducting experiments for years, trying to figure out what sets metahumans apart from everyone else. ~~Some of the things that Luthor’s done~~ Wally can’t even talk about the experiments without getting sick, so we can only imagine how terrible they must have been.

 ~~Wally’s such a sweet kid~~  
~~I don’t understand how~~  
~~Luthor is a fucking bastard~~

We’ve tried searching for his family, but his parents died in a car accident three years ago. Wally took it well, considering. ~~He must’ve given up on ever seeing them~~

~~Wally likes to play video games~~

Wally thinks we should hit the other labs as soon as we can. He wants to help, but he’s still recovering from whatever treatments the scientists were subjecting him to. But he’s right. The sooner we shut down Luthor’s labs, the more survivors we’ll find.

~~I just hope we won’t be too late again~~

Jason has to deal with some Outlaw business though, and even Damian agrees it would be reckless to go into one of those labs without him. We’ll have to wait until next week, at least.

05 - 25  
Wallace West passed today on May 25th, at 1732 hours.  
~~i wish he’d said something before~~  
~~why didn’t he~~  
~~i can’t save anyone~~  
~~no wonder dad didn’t want us~~  
At least he’s with his parents now.

07 - 01  
Luthor’s been sentenced to a hundred and fifty years in prison, no chance of parole.  
Damian finally hugged me again.  
I hope Luthor rots in there until he dies.

07 - 03  
I should thank Jason for being there for us this whole time, but I don’t know how to say it.

I still don’t think I can trust him and I’ve told him that but he’s still here. I know he’s been neglecting his Outlaw work because of us. I overheard Roy arguing with him about it.

 ~~I don’t think I’m good enough for him~~  
~~He makes me so happy~~  
I’ll make it up to him. I have to.

08 - 10  
~~Dad~~ Bruce sent us a dog for Damian’s birthday.  
The collar had a card that was signed off by Alfred, but we know the Great Dane is all Bruce.

~~I still hate him~~

Damian loves him.  
He named him Titus.

08 - 11  
Jason brought back a cat ~~out of spite~~ and called her Alfred.  
It’s not funny, but I guess it kind of is.  
Titus and Alfred get along great.

08 - 13  
We’re hitting another lab tomorrow, in Michigan. Jason’s scouted out the place and according to him, there’s only one test subject this time.

It’s a woman, my age. Her name is Donna Troy.

08 - 16  
The lab hit was a success.

No one died and the first thing we did was get Donna checked out. She’s healthy, as far as Dr Leslie can tell, but Donna doesn’t seem completely human either.

Her bloodwork’s unique and she can easily break a titanium-enforced wall with just her bare fists. She’s fast too, with great reflexes for someone who’s never been formally trained to fight.

She was an orphan when Luthor took her, just 13 years old. She doesn’t know much about her own family and she doesn’t want us to try to find any other possible relatives. She insists she’s fine on her own.

We can’t let her leave though. She broke the coffee machine on accident - crushed it with her fingers, to be specific - and she doesn’t seem to realize that her skin sometimes glows gold. There’s no way she’ll be able to blend in with normal people, at least not until she learns to somehow control her strength and ~~glowy-thing~~ luminescence.

Jason will talk to her about it tomorrow. He thinks he knows how to get through to her, considering they both have similar experiences living on the streets. ~~I think he’s just jealous~~ ~~worried~~ ~~about us getting along so well~~ He might be right.

08 - 20  
Donna’s been spending her free time learning basic medical procedures with Dr Leslie. It’ll be useful for her, but also for us. Since she’ll be staying, she might as well be of some help.

Jason asked me out on a date yesterday ~~even though I’ve been rejecting him for the past fifty-seven times~~

I said yes

08 - 21  
~~I think I love him~~  
We’re going out on another date tonight

08 - 25  
Damian found intel on another lab.

It’s in Coast City this time, and Damian’s extracted enough information to know there are three subjects. They’ve heard about our other hits though, so security’s tight. ~~It pisses me off that Luthor’s still got control of his labs even though he’s in jail~~

Donna thinks if anyone can do it, it’ll be us.  
~~She doesn’t know about Wally~~

09 - 09  
Megan Morse, Victor Stone and Garth.

We saved them from the lab. Megan has the ~~weirdest~~ ~~coolest~~ most unique abilities thus far, and Victor’s been fitted with so many cybernetic prosthetics that the only really human parts of him are his brain and the right side of his face.

Garth though. He’s another story altogether.

Garth says he’s from a different world completely, somewhere underwater and far from any form of human civilization. He calls it Atlantis. It’s hard to believe him, but he doesn’t seem to need to breathe underwater even though he doesn’t have any gills, so it’s hard to not believe him either.

Megan has an uncle but she doesn’t remember his name or where he lives. She doesn’t seem to be able to remember anything before she’d been taken by Luthor. We’ve tried looking up her name, but nothing’s come up that matches her description, not even missing persons reports.

Victor says he only has his father, but they hate each other so he’s not eager to find him. He wanted revenge on Luthor, but after we told him about what happened, he seemed kind of lost. We told him he can stay with us, just like Donna has been. He agreed but I don’t think he’s too happy about it.

Garth remembers how to go home, and he wants to go. He’ll be leaving before the end of this week. I’m happy for him, but it feels difficult to not worry about him after all that’s happened.

Jason says it’s normal to feel that way but that I should be glad that at least one of them is going to get their happy ending.

09 - 17  
We found another lab in Gotham.

This bothers Jason and I don’t know why. I want to ask, then maybe I’ll be able to help him about it.

What kind of boyfriend would I be if I ignored his problems?

09 - 17  
We fought

09 - 30  
I really am an idiot.  
And a selfish asshole.

We finally talked again, thanks to Damian.

Jason grew up in Gotham and even though he hasn’t been back in a long while, he still feels responsible for the city. He’s been blaming himself for not realizing that Luthor’s had his claws in the city this whole time. He thinks it’s his fault that he never stopped Luthor.

I told him that it’s useless to think that way. ~~He told me that himself, when I was~~

He’s said it himself, that regrets can’t change the past, that the only thing we have control over in life is our future. He was right, even if he doesn’t think so now.

He told me more about his parents. About his mom and how she was before the addiction had taken over her life. About his dad before he’d started working for Dent. About life at the orphanage, about being bullied by his classmates because he was younger than all of them by two years.

For the longest time, Jason’s only friend had been Roy. He’d had worse trust issues than I do, he said.

Then he’d met Selina Kyle. He said she saved his life, that he owes her for everything that he is today, that he would never have met Bruce in the first place if it weren’t for her.

He feels guilty because he hasn’t gone to see her in over five years and she’s not even dead. He thinks that makes him an ungrateful asshole.

I told him that it sort of does, and that made him smile. I told him we should go see her too, when we hit the lab.

He said he’ll think about it, but he didn’t have nightmares last night so I think we will.

10 - 03  
Selina Kyle is terrifying but she loves Jason like her own son.

I think I almost cried watching her fuss over him. It was sweet and cute, even though they were bickering and snapping insults at each other 95 percent of the time. I know it’s just how they show affection though and I have Damian to thank for that.

After they were done, Damian and Jason went off to scout the lab and I stayed behind because Selina wanted to talk to me.

I knew what was coming, but seeing her beautiful face set in a stern expression honestly petrified me anyway. Even Talia never made me feel that scared.

“I think you know what I’m about to say,” she said. She had her hands on her hips, one of them right above her whip there. I gulped nervously. “That boy’s an idiot on a good day but he’s also one of the best men I’ve ever had the misfortune to know. If that changes because of you, even my respect for you father won’t save your pretty ass. Are we clear?”

What could I do but squeak out a yes to that? Jason told me that her streename was Catwoman, and at that point, she did make me feel like a scared little mouse.

Anyway, Selina didn’t need to tell me that and somehow, I found the courage to tell her so. I know what kind of man Jason is, and I know I’m lucky to have him in my life at all. I would never do anything to lose that, to lose him. Not after everything we’ve been through together.  
It was then, when I stopped talking, that I finally realized that I had to get over myself. I had to face what I’d known all along, since that moment when I’d stepped into his car with him almost a year ago.

I’m in love with Jason.

I told Selina that. She told me not to get ahead of myself, but I could tell I was starting to win her over. I didn’t push my luck though and we headed out to rendezvous with Jason and Damian at the clocktower.

I told Jason too.

He’s still sleeping now, snoring like a monster, drooling all over my pillows. He looks beautiful in the morning sun. Perfect.

I’ll let him sleep in since we both went a little overboard last night and we don’t need to go set the detonators until later anyway.

~~I still can’t believe he thought I was a virgin~~

10 - 10  
We found two more survivors but one of them

I don’t know how to explain it.

It’s Clark, but it’s not. According to Luthor’s notes, he’s a clone and despite how impossible that sounds, it’s undeniable that Connor looks every inch a miniature Clark Kent. Even his physiology is the same; his bloodwork, his unique immune system, his naturally enhanced strength and speed. He doesn’t have fingerprints or a bellybutton, but his DNA matches Clark’s.

Physically, Connor appears to be at least 17, but according to the other subject we rescued, Connor’s actually a toddler.

The other subject is Timothy Drake. Tim’s something of an oddball himself.

Tim’s only been at the lab for three years, and he’s nothing like the others. He hadn’t been kidnapped; he’d volunteered.

Tim told us that he’d been investigating Luthor’s lab for months before he’d devised a plan to infiltrate it, namely by allowing himself to be experimented on. He admitted that it hadn’t been the best idea he could’ve hatched up, but he’d been monitoring Luthor’s success rate at engineering a viable clone and when Luthor had actually succeeded, Tim had felt he had to do something.

Connor’s growth from an artificial womb had been accelerated, and by the time Tim had been taken into the lab, Connor was a fully-grown, completely healthy teenager. Except that he couldn’t read, speak or even respond to his environment like any other human at his physical age.

He couldn’t even move on his own, like a baby. The scientists were about to declare him a failure and ‘exterminate’ him when Tim intervened and convinced them that he could get Connort to ‘work’.

Tim spent most of his days in the lab taking care of Connor; feeding him, talking to him, teaching him how to walk and talk and behave like a normal human being. Whenever he wasn’t doing that, he would be subjected to ‘tests’ by the scientists. They were intrigued by his eidetic memory, but were otherwise more interested in his progress with Connor.

Connor learnt fast under Tim’s guidance. Within half a year, Connor could’ve passed for a 5-year-old, and within a year, he could hold basic conversations and displayed average critical thinking skills.

The scientists weren’t too impressed, but Tim never gave up on Connor and convinced them to leave him alone since he wasn’t hurting anyone.

What Tim didn’t tell the scientists was that Connor’s mental development wasn’t as stunted as they believed. Tim knew there wouldn’t be anything good in store for Connor if the scientists knew he wasn’t actually ‘defective’, so the two of them downplayed Connor’s understanding as much as they could.

In reality, Connor was a fast learner and Tim was an incredible teacher. Tim had been able to bring Connor’s mental faculties up to speed within their first month together, and the physical parts had just started following suit once his brain had caught on.

If Jason, Damian and I hadn’t saved them, Connor and Tim would’ve escaped within the next year. The only reason they were still there was because Tim knew there were other labs and other experiments being carried out elsewhere, and Tim needed more time to collect the evidence to shut Luthor down. It wouldn’t have been too difficult for him to do if he hadn’t been trapped in the lab, but he’d had to work with what he had.

They didn’t know about Luthor’s arrest, but they were relieved and happy to hear about it.

Connor has to stay with us, of course, since he doesn’t technically exist. It’s not like I can just call Clark and tell him he’s got a pseudo-son running around because of Luthor’s sick ideas. I don’t think Bruce would take it well either. He still thinks what we’re doing is dangerous and reckless.

Tim though has parents. It was only after we got back to Selina’s safehouse that I realized why Tim’s name sounded familiar. He’s Timothy Drake, of Drake Industries. His parents are alive and perfectly well but when I asked Tim why he wasn’t reported missing for the past 3 years, he hedged around the subject and told me that’s just how his family is. I didn’t push after that.

The important thing was that Tim wanted to stay with Connor, so now we’ve got two new additions to our little family.

It sounds good to say that out loud. Family. Even if only Damian and I are actually related to each other, we’re still there for each other. We look out for each other.

Only, our safehouse back in Metropolis only has five bedrooms.

Jason and I are discussing plans on moving to a bigger space, but we’re celebrating Tim and Connor’s freedom first. Selina just challenged Jason to a chug-fight.

Damian’s not happy about being the only one that has to stay sober but some things I still won’t let him get away with.

10 - 08  
Donna called us Titans yesterday, while we were having our second round of celebrations with everyone else in Metropolis.

Apparently her family’s descended from an Ancient Greek bloodline and she remembers enough of her childhood to remember her mother telling her stories about them.

Titans were primordial beings, gods that existed before the mainstream gods that everyone knows now. When they were overthrown by the Olympians, people forgot about most of them, and the Olympians either imprisoned the rest, or threw them down to earth to live among humans.

She said it fits us, the metahumans especially.

She really meant it as a joke, but the name’s stuck in my head now.

I’ve been thinking about the long-term for a while, especially since we keep finding more and more labs. There’ll be more people soon enough, and we can’t just keep hiding everyone in tiny little apartments with barely enough room for them to breathe.

And they all need a safe place where they can really be themselves. I know they’re struggling not to lose control most days.

I don’t understand what that’s like; to have to deny a part of yourself so constantly, to know that letting go even for a moment might cause fatal accidents, but it must be awful. They’re all good kids, good people. They deserve better than that.

We need to do something about it. We should’ve done something about it months ago.  
I’ll talk to Jason and then we’ll run the idea by Bruce, just to see his reaction.

10 - 17  
Bruce actually thinks it’s a good idea ~~not that I care~~.

Surprisingly, Jason’s more skeptical about it, but I can tell he’s calculating the costs, figuring in the details, considering all the options we have. He’s a perfectionist like that. It’s cute.

I know we’re going to do it anyway. We need this move. The kids all do.

Damian thinks so too. I haven’t seen Damian this determined since he’d started training Titus, and I know he’s as invested in the Titans as I am.

I think he has a crush on Tim, but I could just be reading too much into the way he sneers around the name **Drake**.

Either way, we’re doing this. We really are.

10 - 31  
It’s official.  
Jason and I signed the PA a few hours ago.  
Titans Tower will be fully operational in two months.

11 - 12  
Damian insisted I start making actual reports on the new computer instead, so this is going to be the last entry here.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s happened in the past year. About Bruce and Clark. About Wally. About the Titans.

It used to hurt to think about. Jason was right (but I’m not telling him that). It helped to write everything down.

I think it’s safe to say that it doesn’t hurt anymore. I don’t think I need a journal anymore.  
I have the Titans and Damian. Titus. Alfred.

I have Jason.

They’re all the only things I need.  
They help.


End file.
